Brand New Start
by GentleReader
Summary: Sequel to "Christmas in July"; follows Wade and Zoe to New York City for her fellowship. How will Wade fit in? Will Zoe's dream of being a surgeon come true? And can the two of them keep it together, so far from where they fell in love? **Chapter Nine FINALLY up!**
1. Start Spreadin' the News

**Author's Note: Welcome to the sequel to **_**Christmas in July**_**, which follows Zoe and Wade to New York. I'm really excited about this story, and hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: All **_**Hart of Dixie**_** characters belong to Leila Gerstein and her writers.**

**Brand New Start**

**Chapter One: Start Spreadin' the News**

"Statue of Liberty, obviously."

"OK." He brushes Zoe's hair away from her neck and kisses below her ear.

"Hmmm…MOMA…the Library…the Met…oh my God!"

"I'm likin' the appreciation," he murmurs, working his way across her bare shoulder.

"No—not that—" She puts up a hand, as if to slap at him, but then pulls him closer, sighing, "Don't stop… mmmm…I meant you _have_ to see the Guggen—ohhh…"

He raises his head, causing her to pout in frustration. "Jeez, Doc, what is this—a sixth-grade field trip? How about somthin' fun?" he smirks, kissing his way down to the hollow of her throat. "Like Coney Island? Hot dogs—" He keeps going.

"Well—"

"Ice cream…"

"O…K…"

"Cotton candy?"

"Yes!" She arches up into him, twining her fingers in his hair.

He props his chin on her chest and grins. "I think I'm gonna like New York."

* * *

Wade is packing—or trying to—when Zoe skips into the gatehouse, holding up a piece of paper. "I got our tickets!" she sings, making her way over to him.

"What tickets?" he asks absentmindedly. Every article of clothing he owns is scattered across the bed. He's decided that he's only taking his "best" stuff to New York: the navy-blue peacoat Zoe gave him for Christmas, his one suit, a few years old but still serviceable, all the jeans that don't have rips, holes, or paint stains on them, two sweaters that he's had forever, but that still look new because it's never cold enough to wear them, and, of course, a few flannels—but which ones?

Zoe wraps her arms around him from behind. "Our _plane_ tickets." He turns, slowly. "I can't believe we're really doing this," she smiles, lifting her face for his kiss, but he drops his arms and steps back.

"Plane tickets? I thought we were drivin'."

She looks at him, brow furrowed. "We can't take a car, silly. Do you know how much it costs to rent a garage in New York?" She narrows her eyes. "Don't be grumpy just because we can't act out your _Cannonball Run _bed-hopping fantasy."

"It isn't that," he comments tightly. "You just bought the tickets, without asking me—"

"We said we wanted to leave on the first…these were the last two seats—I had to grab them!" He frowns, hands on his hips, and she reaches out to touch his chest. "What's wrong?"

He brushes a long chestnut lock back over her shoulder. Goddamn, but he loves this woman; he wishes he could just get caught up in her excitement and forget everything else, but better that they have this conversation now, then after they get there. "I hadn't exactly…budgeted…for flyin'. I was plannin' to use my savings, such as they are, to tide me over until we get set up."

"Oh, sweetie, you won't need to worry about any of that! We're staying with my mom, so that's rent-free, and I'll be making double what my salary is in Bluebell—"

"Zoe," he says quietly, but very definitely. "I can't start out livin' with you as a…kept man."

"Though you do provide exceptional service." Her joke falls flat, and she looks up into his face, lacing her fingers through his. "Wade, you and I are taking this amazing step together. It means so much that you're willing leave everything you've known behind to come with me. So what if you need a little time to get on your feet? That's what couples do—they support each other. You'd do the same for me if the situation was reversed."

"I guess that's what I'm afraid of, Doc. That I'll never be able to do the same for you." He sits down heavily. "Maybe I should let you go on ahead and get settled. If I work just a couple more weeks at the Rammer Jammer, I'll have enough for my ticket, and I can join you then."

She shakes her head vehemently. "No! The whole point of this is that we're going together. Our flight is Sunday, so we can spend a couple of days sightseeing before I have to start at New York Pres. These fellowships are super-demanding, Wade—I might not have any time off for awhile." She pauses. "Besides, if you don't come with me, how do I know—" she breaks off, turning away from him.

"How do you know, what?" Silence fills the room, and he lets it hang there.

"How do I know you'll come at all?" she asks, in a very small voice.

Remorse hits him. He can't ruin this for her…he takes her hand, spinning her back toward him. "You gotta give me more credit than that, darlin'. I'm not usin' this as an excuse, I promise. Just…give me a little time to figure things out."

"Fine." She toys with his shirt buttons, eyes downcast. "But don't take too long, OK?"

"Yeah." He runs his thumb over her cheek and she leans into him, just for a minute.

"I've got to go meet Lavon. His cousin might rent the carriage house while we're gone, and I have to see if I can store my stuff in the attic." He stands up to give her a proper kiss goodbye, but she leans around him and snatches a certain blue flannel shirt off the pile on the bed.

"Where you goin' with that?"

"I'm packing it."

"Forgive me for sayin' so, Doc, but I don't think it's your size," he comments, happy they are back on a lighter footing.

"You liked it well enough last time I wore it," she smirks.

"I would've liked it a lot better if that'd been all you were wearin'." He pulls her against him. "Maybe you should try it on now," he suggests, into her neck.

She tips her head to the side, allowing him more access. "Mmmm….wait…Lavon…"

"Yep, I'm thinkin' Lavon can definitely wait." He slips her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt and runs his hand up her back to her bra clasp—

There's a knock on the door, and Earl peeks in. "Y'all busy?" he asks, then turns an embarrassed pink when he sees them. "Didn't mean to intrude." He ducks back out again.

"I have _got_ to start lockin' that door," Wade mutters.

"Just think," Zoe giggles as she tucks her shirt back in. "Next week, it'll be my mom interrupting us instead of your dad. At least, I hope it'll be next week," she adds, with a significant look.

"All right," he concedes. "But that's not exactly a big selling point, Doc."

"Don't worry, we'll just hang a sock on the door like I used to do in high school." At Wade's intrigued look—"Kidding!" She throws the flannel over her shoulder and makes her way to the door.

Wade sticks his head out after her and calls to Earl, who is trudging around the pond. "Come on in, Dad."

Earl stumps back up the steps. "Sorry 'bout that. Shoulda called first." He sees the array of clothes littered over the bed. "So…you're really doin' this whole move-to-the-big-city thing?"

"Looks like it," Wade replies, sinking down next to a stack of t-shirts. "Hey, Dad? Did you ever feel like you shouldn't be with Momma?"

His father looks surprised at the question. "I wanted to be with Jackie from the first time I saw her in the seventh grade. I loved her from that hour to this—ain't stopped yet, no disrespect to my Mae."

"No…I mean, a time when you felt like you couldn't…live up to her."

"Only every day!" Earl laughs. "I always knew I married above my meed, but she wanted me, for some reason…I could never give her the life she deserved, so I made damn sure I made her happy in other ways." He looks at Wade for a long moment. "What's eatin' at you, Son?"

"It's nothin'."

"It's not nothin', if you're thinkin' you're not worthy of the doc…that just ain't true. You're smart, and a hard worker, and you ain't made the mistakes I did…no reason you can't build a life that both of you can be proud of."

"That might be the case back here in Bluebell, but New York is an expensive city, and I'm not exactly flush with cash." He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "I shoulda thought of that before now, only Zoe's been so fired up about the whole notion that I got wrapped up in it, too."

Earl is quiet for a minute, apparently thinking; then he drops a hand on Wade's shoulder. "Don't go borrowin' trouble, now. I just bet you're gonna figure it out."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure I will. Now what brought you over?"

"Well, maybe now ain't the best time for this…" he hesitates. "But I brought you somethin' I thought you might need—eventually." Fishing in his jacket pocket, he pulls out a small red box.

Wade sits back in shock. "Is that—Momma's ring?"

"Yep."

"It's not—we're not—"

Earl puts his hands up. "I ain't askin'! I always meant to give it to you anyways…so you can take it to New York, or not, but she would want you to have it." Earl sets the box on the coffee table and walks to the door. "And Wade? She would want you to have Zoe in your life, too—they woulda been two peas in a pod, those women. Keep you on your toes, no matter what."

"That's for sure."

The door slaps shut behind Earl, and Wade picks up the box from the table, turning it over in his hands and wishing he could see into the future.

* * *

The next day, Wade is loading cases of beer into the Rammer Jammer's storage room when Earl comes around the corner. "Hey there!" he says, surprised. "What can I do for you?"

"For once, I'm hopin' I can do somethin' for you." He hands a manilla envelope to Wade. "I know you've been worryin' on how much New York is gonna cost…"

Wade looks up at him suspiciously. Opening the envelope, he finds a collection of grimy, crumpled bills—tens and twenties, mostly. The rich smell of soil hits his nostrils—"What in the blue blazes is this?"

"It's yours," Earl replies.

_Jesus, _Wade thinks, kicking himself for even mentioning his money concerns to Earl. _What's the old man gone and done?_ "Mine? No—I don't know where you got all this, or why it stinks like it's been keepin' company with a dead body, but I don't want no part of it—"

Earl looks hurt. "T'weren't in a coffin—I used your momma's cannin' jars! What does it matter that a little dirt got in anyway? It's still worth the same!"

_What?_ Wade takes a deep breath, realizing they may be talking at cross-purposes, and speaks slowly. "Where did you get this money, Earl?"

"I tole you—it's yours. Back when I was drinkin', and you'd give me twenty bucks just to shut up and leave you alone, I…I saved it." Astonished, Wade gapes at him. "I'm sure you thought I poured it all right down my gullet but I didn't. Figured you might need it someday."

Wade's throat suddenly feels tight. Guilt—at underestimating Earl, at jumping straight to the worst conclusion, and not for the first time—swamps him. He wonders when his father went from being a millstone around his neck to his fairy godmother. "As it happens, it's gonna come in very handy. Thanks, Dad."

"You and the lady doctor have done an awful lot for me these last months, and I want you to know I appreciate it."

Wade clears his throat. "Don't get all sappy on me, now."

Earl rocks back on his heels with a pleased grin. "Well, don't go gettin' all hoity-toity up there, and forgettin' us all."

"I won't. Is there anythin' we can send you? You want a model of the Empire State Building, maybe?"

"Aw, nothin' for me. But maybe…Mae, she collects those little spoons with the pictures on 'em from everywhere she goes? One of those might be good—women do like their doodads."

"You bet." Wade pauses. "We gonna see you at the New Year's party?"

Earl looks a bit uncomfortable. "Naw…those big to-dos aren't really my speed." Wade understands that this has more to do with being around lots of alcohol than the party itself, and doesn't push it.

"Take care of yourself, Dad," he says instead.

"I'll do that." Earl puts out his hand; Wade takes it and pulls him into a hug. "Now who's gettin' sappy?" the older man complains, but doesn't let go.

* * *

It's New Year's Eve, and the Rammer Jammer is packed. Wade stands behind the bar, surveying the crowd. In spite of the early hour, noisemakers and periodic cheers are already lending a festive air to the night.

A banner stretches across the back door: _Good Luck, Wade & Zoe! _ When Wally first offered to honor their last night in Bluebell at the Rammer Jammer's annual bash, Wade wasn't sure how Zoe would take it. Maybe she would want something smaller, more intimate, with just their closest friends, instead of a raucous shindig people came to from three towns over, but she surprised him: "All of our friends will be there anyway, and there'll be music and dancing. What's not to like?"

Lavon comes up, leans on the bar, and orders a Moscow Mule. "Seems a shame you have to work your own goin'-away party," he comments as Wade mixes vodka, ginger beer, and lime juice.

"Nah, I'm happy here—can keep my eye on all the action, but don't have to answer a pack of questions like 'Am I sure I should be doin' this?', or listening to New York horror stories that Big Ethel saw on Facebook."

Lavon laughs. "Yeah, well, I've been there—used to play at the Meadowlands at least once a season—and I think you're more ready for New York than New York is ready for you."

"I bet they've seen their share of hick bartenders up there. You got any advice, Mayor?" Wade asks, wiping down the counter.

"Keep your wallet in your front pocket, and take the subway—most times, walkin' is quicker than a cab. Also, just 'cause folks are talkin' too fast, doesn't mean they're lyin'; seems like nobody has time for a normal conversation. And whatever you do, don't stop in the middle of the sidewalk—you'll get plumb run over."

"Duly noted."

"So…" Lavon looks down at his drink thoughtfully. "Now that you and Big Z are gonna be livin' together…you have any thoughts of makin' an honest woman of her?"

Wade thinks of the little red box, buried at the bottom of his carry-on suitcase, and deflects. "Misery loves company, huh?"

"I've never been happier in my life! And you didn't answer my question."

"Well, I—" Just then, the object of Lavon's inquiry slides onto a barstool. _That was close_, Wade thinks, as he leans over the bar to kiss her. "Hey, baby…you need to wet your whistle?"

"I just did," she says saucily.

"You're still lookin' a bit parched…right over here." He plants another kiss just at the corner of her mouth.

"Yo, I'm still here, y'all," Lavon comments good-naturedly.

Wade turns away to serve a gaggle of barely-legal-looking girls at the end of the bar. When he returns, Lavon is saying to Zoe, "Plantation's not gonna be the same without you two."

"Oh, Lavon," Zoe replies, her eyes welling up. "When I think about you, all alone at breakfast—"

"For Pete's sake, Doc, he won't be alone—he does have a fiancée," Wade puts in.

"I know, but Lemon's not much of a morning person. Remember all the fun the three of us used to have, while Lavon made pancakes…granny's recipe…" The waterworks start again.

Wade hands Zoe a napkin to dry her eyes. "No offense, Mr. Mayor, but I do believe she'll miss the food as much as the company."

Sniffing, she looks sheepishly over at Lavon. "Could you maybe send us some buttermilk muffins once in awhile?"

He puts one large paw on her shoulder. "For you, Big Z? It'll be an honor. Now, serious question: you'll be back for the weddin', right?"

"Do you think we'd miss our best friend's wedding? No way! Of course we'll be back," Zoe asserts.

"Good to know…Lemon'll kill me otherwise."

"Awww…that's so sweet," Zoe says. Wade and Lavon both raise their eyebrows at her. "Oh—not the killing part. The part where it's important to her that we be there."

Lemon herself walks up, and Zoe wastes no time wrapping her in a hug. The blonde tolerates this, then steps back, patting her hair. "I do declare, Dr. Hart, it's not as though you're leaving forever. Surely we don't need these—displays—"

Zoe smiles. "Oh, Lemon, you'll miss us."

"Bless your heart. How will I learn to survive without seeing shirtless tenants at breakfast and listening to the constant raiding of our kitchen at all hours?" She turns to Wade. "Shelley jammed the register tape again and every receipt is a mess of inkblots."

"I'm on it," replies Wade.

Lavon puts an arm around his fiancée. "See, honey? Taken care of. Now you have time for a quick dance with your poor neglected betrothed."

Addy comes to grab Zoe, and Wade goes in the back to deal with the register. As he fiddles with the tape roller mechanism, he's accosted by Tom Long.

"Hey, Wade—" He glances around nervously. "Before you go…there's somethin' I've been meaning to ask you, man to man…it's about women and…how they work."

Oh, jeez. _Please tell me I'm not gonna spend my last night in Bluebell teachin' Tom Long the sex ed he apparently missed in high school_. "If you're needin' to know anythin' about the birds and the bees, I'd check in with the Doc. She's a professional."

Tom looks aghast. "Of course not! I'm saving myself for marriage."

"Really?" _That's still a thing?_ "Uh—good for you, Tom. So how can I help?"

"It's Wanda." He gazes besottedly over at the red-haired, porcelain-skinned waitress, currently weaving her way through a crowd of revelers, tray held high above her head. Wade recognizes the puppyish eagerness on Tom's face—the kid looked at Zoe that same way, not too long ago. "She's—she's perfect," Tom sighs. "How can I get her to notice me?"

"For starters, wipe that fool stare off your face. It's a turnoff."

Tom instantly straightens, endeavoring to plaster on a more blasé expression, but ends up looking like he swallowed a catfish bone instead.

Wade tries to stifle his laughter. "Yeahhhh. Maybe not so much with the James Bond bit. Just…look normal."

"I don't know what that means," Tom complains, crestfallen.

"OK, let's move on. What kinds of things does she like?"

"Well…I saw her reading a magazine once, when it was slow in here—it had a lot of cookies on the cover…and she always sings along to Luke Bryan songs—"

"You've never talked to her?"

"I have!" Tom protests indignantly. "The other day, I ordered an omelette from her—with ham!"

"That must've made her heart go pitter-patter."

Tom finally catches the sarcasm in Wade's tone. "I know…but how did you get Dr. Hart to notice you?"

Wade thinks back to a certain steamy night, playing Guitar Hero with the Rebeccas (or the Rachels?), and one pissed-off doctor in a tiny nightie yelling about the fuse box. Yeah, she noticed him all right…and the fire lit that night was still burning.

"Tom, I'm not sure you're ready for the Defcon-5 level of flirtin'. Why don't you just try askin' how she likes Bluebell, or tellin' her a joke—"

"A joke! That's an idea. I'm tryin' to put together a set for Open Mic night at Tricky Rick's—maybe I could try one of my bits on her. Thanks, Wade!"

Wade is dubious about the effectiveness of this approach, but Tom seems enormously encouraged, so he lets it go. He claps the younger man on the shoulder. "Whatever floats your boat. Most important thing is to be yourself. If it's meant to be, it'll be."

Goofy expression back on his face, Tom replies dreamily, "Just like you and Zoe."

Wade looks across at his girl, currently doubled up in laughter at something Addy is saying, and smiles. "Y'know, you're absolutely right. I think it's time for me to take a break." He turns back to Tom and shakes his hand. "Good luck with everything. Let me know how it goes with Wanda."

Sauntering over to where Zoe and Addy are now mirroring each other in some kind of 60s shimmy, he asks, "Can I cut in?" The first strains of Frank Sinatra's classic float over the general noise, and he glances up to see Lavon smirking at him from the DJ stand. Addy turns back to coerce Bill onto the dance floor, while Wade twirls Zoe under one arm.

"Having fun?" she asks.

"I am now," he grins, dipping her.

"I never thought I'd say it, but I'll really miss this place."

"Good news is, everything'll still be here when you get back, right where you left it. That's Bluebell for you."

_These little town blues_

_Are melting away_

_We'll make a brand new start of it_

_In old New York…_

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**A note on the posting schedule: a new chapter should be up about once a week, if all goes well, though I'll certainly post more quickly if I can.**

**Would love to know what you think!**


	2. City That Never Sleeps

**A/N:** **Thank you so much for the reviews, and for your patience! I know I promised updates about once a week, and still plan to hold to that, but sometimes real life intervenes, drat it! **** Anyway, hope it was worth the wait…**

**Chapter Two: City that Never Sleeps**

When they come up out of the train station, the cold hits Wade like an ice block hurled at his chest. He could swear his lungs are shriveling and cracking each time he breathes.

Then the noise breaks through to his frozen ears, and he nearly gets right back on the escalator and returns to the relative "quiet" of Penn Station. He should be prepared; after all, it's exactly like every movie about New York that's he's ever seen, only with the volume turned all the way up: horns blaring, folks shouting, the stomp of countless feet, the squeal of tires…

And the people. He's literally never seen so many human beings all in one place—and all, apparently, in a hurry to get somewhere else. The entire population of Bluebell and Fillmore combined wouldn't hold a candle to the crowds just in his field of vision.

He turns to Zoe, his anchor in all this chaos, but she dashes by him, shrieking, and throws herself into the arms of another man.

_Welcome to New York City._

He's still trying to get both lungs and brain to function properly when Zoe comes back to him, gesturing to the man she just hugged. "Wade, may I present Javier Rodriguez de la Cruz, my mother's Man Friday."

Wade shakes hands with the man, who's of medium height, with salt-and-pepper hair, dark skin, and merry-looking black eyes. He seems unfazed by the cold, maybe due to his well-made wool coat and black leather gloves.

"Javy, this is my boyfriend Wade Kinsella."

Is it ridiculous that he still gets a little thrill each time she calls him that? "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Rod—uh, de la—" he stumbles over the last name.

The older man rescues him quickly. "de la Cruz. But please, call me Javy," he says in barely-accented English. "Welcome to New York, Mr. Kinsella. I have the car here—I'll just load your bags and we'll be off." He opens the trunk of a black Lexus, and Wade lifts their two largest bags into it. Javy nods his thanks for the help, but assures him, "I've got the rest."

Zoe slides into the back seat and gestures for Wade to follow. "We'll be at my mom's in twenty minutes or so, depending on traffic."

Javy gets in on the driver's side and starts the engine.

"So _cómo __e__stás, Javy_?" Zoe asks as he pulls out into traffic.

"_E__stá bien, se__ñ__orita. Y t__ú?_"

Zoe proceeds to answer his questions in a torrent of Spanish—so fast that Wade can't even separate the words. He gazes at her in shock, wondering if he's so overwhelmed by the events of the day that he's hearing things. How could he not know that his girlfriend of several months speaks fluent Spanish?

He's got a lot to learn about New York Zoe, apparently.

Zoe catches his look and smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, babe. I was just asking Javy about his kids. Ricky's studying education at St. John's and Alessandra is an accountant."

"Wow," replies Wade. "You must be prouder than a prize bull."

"I am," Javy says. "It's not easy for young people these days…but I guess you two know that."

Wade puts an arm around Zoe, pulling her close. "Well, I know this here girl worked her cute little—uh—backside off to get where she is."

Javy smiles, his eyes meeting Wade's in the rear-view mirror.

As they proceed uptown, towering skyscrapers gradually give way to more moderate-sized buildings. They pass Central Park on their left, and Wade finally feels like he can take a deep breath—the day is still grey, but it's a lot lighter here than it was downtown, and he doesn't feel so closed-in.

Soon, Javy pulls the car into an underground garage. He unloads their luggage, taking special care with Wade's guitar, and leads them through a small lobby paved in white marble tiles. Behind a desk stands a wizened, white-haired man in a blue doorman's uniform that looks three sizes too big for him.

"Look who I got, Frank." announces Javy.

"Miss Zoe!" the man cries, delighted. "Oh, excuse me—I mean _Dr._ Zoe." He bows exaggeratedly, and comes out from behind the desk to give her a hug.

"It's great to see you," she says, her head nearly level with his.

He pulls back to look at her. "Long time you've been gone."

"Aw, Frank, it hasn't even been a year."

"Seems a lot longer than that since we had a dose of Little Miss Sunshine, here." Wade can barely contain a laugh, and Zoe turns a distinct pink. "I've known Miss Zoe since she was still carrying her blanket everywhere she went."

"Frank! Oh my God." Zoe puts a hand up to shield her from Wade's smirk—he is loving this.

"Been keepin' out of trouble, Missy?" Frank inquires, with an appraising glance at Wade.

Wade sticks out a hand. "Wade Kinsella…and I'm mighty happy to say she has _not_."

The older man shakes his hand and grins. "I guess he'll do," he says to Zoe. "Young man, you come down and see me if you want to hear some stories."

"OK, that's enough out of both of you." Zoe pushes Wade toward the elevator. "Let's get upstairs."

Javy shows them to the elevator, hands Zoe a key…and they're finally alone. Wade snakes an arm around her waist. "How far up we goin'?" he asks, nuzzling into her neck.

"Twelfth floor," she replies, leaning back into him.

"Damn. Not enough time to make things interesting."

Zoe giggles. "You realize Frank can see everything we're doing, right?" She points to a camera mounted in the corner of the elevator.

"Hey Frank," Wade waves resignedly.

Stepping out of the elevator, they walk down a lushly-carpeted hall to Apartment 12C.

"How many apartments on each floor?"

"Only four."

He looks up and down the long hallway without seeing any other doors. "Dang! These places must be—" he breaks off as Zoe opens the door—"humongous."

A massive space stretches out in front of them, leading to wall-to-ceiling windows that frame a view over the rooftops of the Upper East Side. There's a huge, white sectional sofa in what must be the living room, and a gleaming white-and-stainless steel kitchen off to the side, opening onto a table for…ten—no, _twelve._ A grand piano holds pride of place in a corner by the windows.

"Damn," he breathes. Most of the New York apartments he's seen on TV are tiny, poky little places, with a fridge and stove on one wall and barely enough room for one person and a cockroach. (Except for those girls on _Friends_—but everyone knows that show isn't realistic.)

This is…impressive. Almost overwhelming.

And, no doubt, monstrously expensive. Not for the first time, Wade feels the gulf between his life growing up and Zoe's.

Unaware of his dismay, Zoe tosses the key on a console table. "Come on. Let's put our stuff in my room."

In a little alcove off the main space are two doors. Zoe opens the right-hand one and exclaims in horror, "Oh—_Mother!_"

Wade looks over her shoulder and can't figure out what the fuss is. It's a nice room, mostly taken up by a large king bed (_excellent!_), with a couple of night tables to either side and a dresser along one wall. Two doorways on the opposite wall probably lead to a bathroom and closet.

"I can't believe she did this," Zoe moans.

As they walk into the room, the reason for Zoe's irritation becomes apparent. Trophies line one shelf; her high school and college diplomas hang next to the dresser, on which sits a variety of "souvenirs" from her growing-up years: a dried corsage, her high school yearbook, a photo of her in cap and gown.

"Oh, crap," she says.

On the wall next to the door they've just come in is a framed, movie-style poster, titled "Zoe the Barbarian" in shiny gold letters. It features a pint-sized, chubby-cheeked Zoe with her hands on her hips and a murderous expression on her face.

"I've seen that look," Wade cracks. "Hey—there it is now!"

And, in fact, thirty-year-old Zoe does bear a remarkable resemblance to her three-year-old counterpart in this moment. "I thought she burned that," she says through gritted teeth.

Wade chuckles and puts an arm around her. "Am I gonna get the story on this, or what?"

"My mom did some publicity for the _Conan_ movie, set up the New York premiere and stuff. She got to be good friends with the Art Director. Apparently, I threw a lot of tantrums."

"Were any of 'em over breakfast pastries?"

She slaps his arm. "Shut up. I seriously thought she'd gotten rid of all this stuff—for years, this has been just a regular guest room. I mean, I moved out in 2004, for God's sake."

Wade pulls her against him. "C'mon, Doc, she's probably just happy to have you home."

"And she shows it by utterly humiliating me in front of my boyfriend?"

"I don't know…this getup is kinda turnin' me on." He holds up a picture of her in a short plaid skirt on the field-hockey pitch.

"If you're not careful, you won't like where I put my stick," she says menacingly.

"Oh ho!" Grabbing her around the waist, he lofts her onto the bed. She clutches at his shoulders, and he goes down with her.

"Nice bounce," he comments. "Has this bed been here as long as those trophies?"

She wrinkles her nose. "No way—my bed was white, with a canopy on top. I think my mom got this one last year. Why?"

Wade props himself on one elbow. "So you've never…"

It takes her a minute to get his meaning. "Nope—never." She laces her hand through his.

Leaning down, he kisses her slowly, enjoying the flush of heat that creeps up from the vee of her sweater to her cheeks. "That'll be somethin' to look forward to, then." He starts to sit up.

Glancing at her watch, she pulls him back to her. "Mom won't be home for another two hours…"

"You sure? I know we joked about that last week, but that's not really how I wanna start things with Candice—"

"She had a 3:00 conference call with Emeril for his new cookbook—she told me." Zoe kisses along the side of his neck, and he groans.

"Well, alright then. Let's get this baby christened!" Kneeling over her, he strips her sweater off and shucks his long-sleeve henley across the room. His hands are on the top button of her jeans when he stops, spooked.

"What is it?" she asks. "Do you want me to text her, just to make sure?"

"Baby, it ain't your momma I'm worried about right now. It's you." He points at the poster overlooking the bed.

Tilting her head back, Zoe shudders. "You're right. That's totally creepy."

"Hang on, now." He carefully takes the poster down and turns it to face the wall. "Much better," he says, and rejoins her on the bed.

* * *

They are showered, dressed, and sitting innocently on the sofa by the time Candice gets home. "Zoe!" she cries, running to hug her daughter. "I'm so happy you're here."

Then she turns to him. "Wade," she says in measured tones.

It's not that Candice _dis_likes him, Zoe has assured him-it's just that she doesn't know him well enough. They've met each other once, when Candice came down to Bluebell in October. Zoe still hadn't forgiven her for lying about Zoe's father, although apparently they hashed that out over a bottle of wine one night. At the time, Wade and Zoe had only been together about six weeks or so, and he's pretty sure that Candice saw him as a temporary blip, someone Zoe could "have fun with" while she was wilting away in Alabama.

He suspects that she's not thrilled that Zoe's decided to make him a more permanent fixture in her life, and especially that she brought him to New York. He and Zoe had originally talked about getting their own place here for that reason, but taking out a short-term lease anywhere close to the hospital just wasn't practical.

So there's not much he can do at the moment about her tepid welcome, aside from being polite and respectful. Which, though it might surprise some folks, he _does_ know how to do: he rises and offers his hand. "Ma'am. Good to see you again. Zoe and I sure appreciate you havin' us to stay."

She half-smiles. "Oh, don't be silly. This is Zoe's home." The emphasis she puts on "Zoe" is pretty unmistakeable. "You got settled all right?"

"Yep, we did," he smiles, knowing Zoe is probably blushing behind him.

"Good. Now, I hope you won't mind, but I invited a few friends over for dinner tonight, to celebrate."

"A dinner party? Tonight?" Zoe is clearly not enthused, and Wade can't say he's too thrilled either. Everything considered, he's pretty beat.

But Candice waves this off. "Oh, honey, it's just a few people: Gigi, Sandra, Alex, and Tom—practically family!" A glance at Wade tells him that _he_ is not in that category. "Besides, Jean is coming over to cook—you know how much you love his _coq au vin_!"

Wade sees an opportunity to earn a few points. "_Coq au vin_? Now there's a treat." He sits back down, puts an arm around Zoe, and kisses the top of her head.

She looks up at him, shocked. "Really? I thought you'd be tired—"

"Not too tired to meet your friends, Doc."

"See? It's all settled." Candice gives him an approving nod. _Score_. "I'm going to freshen up—Jean will be here in half an hour."

As she disappears down the hall, Zoe hugs him, hard. "Thank you."

He rests his chin on her head. "I figure this little adventure's gonna require a few sacrifices here and there." He pulls back, smirking down at her. "You can show me how grateful you are later. Now let's go get gussied up." Pulling her up from the couch, he gives her a playful spank.

"Oh, you are _so_ in for it," she threatens, chasing him back to their room.

"I wouldn't expect anythin' less from Zoe the Barbarian!"

* * *

Jean's _coq au vin_ is delicious, and the wine's not bad either. All in all, Wade is having a pretty good time. Yeah, he might've lost the thread of conversation four or five times, as it bounced from a discussion of atrial fibri-something between Zoe, her med school friend Sandra, and her old chief Tom, to the mayor's push for a soda tax, to the scandal of one of Zoe and Gigi's prep school buddies being found _in flagrante _with a very married state senator…but that seems a small price to pay when Zoe's eyes sparkle with enjoyment and her laughter bubbles over.

Sandra, seated on his left, turns to him. "So, Wade, what will you be doing while Zoe's saving the most important cardiac patients in New York?"

Up to now, he hasn't had to talk much, mostly just offering "hmms" and "reallys" around everyone else's comments, so he's a little startled to find the spotlight turned on him. He chokes down a sip of his wine. "Well—" cough—"I expect I'll be findin' a place in some waterin' hole or other." There are a few puzzled looks around the table; apparently, Zoe hasn't discussed what he does with anyone. "I'm a bartender by trade," he explains.

"A bartender? Who actually intends to _be_ a bartender? Oh, the places around here will _love_ you," puts in Alex, Zoe's friend from college. "Every other waiter and barkeep in New York is just working til they get their 'big break.' Turnover is atrocious. Somebody who actually wants to do the job? Now _that's _a novelty."

"Wade _is_ an amazing musician, though," Zoe tells the crowd.

Wade raises an eyebrow at her hyperbole, while Alex puts his head in his hands and groans. "_Et tu, _Wade?" The table dissolves in laughter, which he finds himself joining, although he has no idea what Alex means.

"Do you gig a lot, down there in Bluebonnet?" Gigi asks, her tone reminiscent of Lemon Breeland.

Zoe shoots Wade an apologetic look. "It's Bluebell, Gigi. And don't be a snob."

"Yeah, I get rave reviews from the crickets and lightnin' bugs on my front porch," he jokes. "'Course, Burt Reynolds is also a pretty big fan."

"Burt Reynolds?" asks Sandra wonderingly. "I didn't know he lives in Alabama. God, he must be—what?—eighty by now!"

Wade opens his mouth to set Sandra straight, but Zoe shakes her head at him. He frowns but stays quiet; he knows this is all just a gag, but it rankles that she doesn't trust these people to take his measure properly…or maybe it's that she doesn't trust _him_ to measure up.

* * *

After dinner, he's standing by the window, looking out on the city lights—so many!—when Gigi approaches him.

"So, Mr. Bartender, I could use a man like you." She smiles at him over her drink, flipping her blonde hair.

He looks pointedly at her wine glass, which is nearly empty. "Need a refill?" he asks, choosing to interpret her words in the most innocent way possible.

She laughs, tossing her head back to expose a long line of neck, right down to her not-inconsiderable cleavage. "No…didn't Zoe tell you? I'm a party planner. You know Little Big Town?"

Wade nods; they're only the biggest act to come out of Alabama since, well, Alabama.

"They're playing MSG next Saturday night, and my firm's doing the post-party. I'd score huge points with my boss if I could feature a bartender who's actually _from_ Alabama."

He has no idea what "MSG" is, but he doesn't think they have plans for next weekend. Zoe will be prepping to start at the hospital, so it might not be bad for him to have something to do. "I can probably help you out."

"That's great." She looks up at him from under her lashes. "So…do you have any signature Southern cocktails?"

Wade shrugs. Over the years, he's made several additions to the Rammer Jammer's drinks menu. "Sure."

"Great! Send me the list of ingredients and I'll make sure you have everything you need."

"Sounds good."

"I'll get all your deets from Zoe." She turns to go, but then looks back over her shoulder. "You never know where things like this might lead."

Wade is not sure how smart it is to put himself under any obligation to Gigi, but a job's a job, and hopefully it pays well, too. If it puts him in the way of other work, that'd be a bonus. It's not going to be easy to earn enough to feel like he's pulling his weight around here, and he's not sure how long he—or Candice—can stand feeling like he's here on sufferance.

* * *

Zoe is sleeping soundly, possibly helped by the wine she had at dinner. Wade's exhausted, too—the flight, the first he's ever taken in his life, was unexpectedly draining, not to mention everything that's happened since they got here—but finds himself wide awake, unable to shut out the cacophony of street sounds that drift in, even twelve floors up.

Frustrated, he throws the comforter back and pads to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He has to look through three or four cupboards before he finds the right one, and as he's standing at the sink filling a tumbler, the light snaps on and there's Candice, in robe and slippers. Too late, Wade realizes that he didn't consider the possibility of running into Zoe's mother, and looks down at his plaid boxers with chagrin.

"I heard someone in here," Candice comments, taking in his state of undress and very obviously turning her gaze away.

"Sorry. Just needed a glass of water. I—couldn't get to sleep."

"I suppose the noise is pretty overwhelming. We're used to it, I guess." Candice leans against the counter, apparently in no hurry to get back to bed.

"Yeah. At home, we sometimes get a frog concert, and cicadas about once a decade, but you don't hear too many horns honkin' unless Bluebell wins the football championship."

She smiles, her expression softening slightly. "Listen, Wade, I wasn't planning to bring this up, but since we're here…I appreciate you coming with Zoe. I'm not sure she would've left Bluebell without you."

"I want Zoe to follow her dreams. Whatever it takes to make that happen."

"That's wonderful to hear. I just hope you've thought about…I mean, I hope you realize, this might not be just six months. She might—indeed, I think she will—get offered a permanent position here."

Of course, it's not the first time this has occurred to Wade, but he doesn't believe in borrowing trouble. "Well, I expect we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." He's all for being respectful to Candice—both as Zoe's mother and their host—but she needs to know he's not a total pushover.

She looks at him for a long moment. "I know you would never want to hold her back." Whether her statement is a concession or a threat isn't clear.

After that, she heads back to her room, but Wade stands motionless in the kitchen, listening to the scream of a siren go on and on and on.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**A/N2: A note on POV…just like **_**Christmas in July**_**, this story starts with two chapters from Wade's perspective. In Chapter Three, we turn to Zoe…**

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Be a Part of It

**A/N: Thanks to all you lovely peeps for reading and reviewing. Special shout-out to guest reviewers that I can't respond to personally; your feedback is so very helpful!**

**Chapter Three: Be a Part of It**

Zoe opens her eyes slowly, her head pounding a little from the wine she drank at the dinner party. _Coffee. I need coffee._ Her gaze drifts over to Wade, who's still sleeping; he was pretty restless during the night, and she doesn't want to wake him.

She slides out from under the comforter, grabs her robe, and heads out of their room. Her mother's door is still closed, for which she's grateful; she's not sure she could face a postmortem on last night, given her headache.

The lifesaving aroma of her favorite Kona roast makes its way to her. Bless Jean, who always leaves the coffeemaker primed and timer set. She pours herself a cup, bringing it to her face and inhaling the steam.

Zoe's excited for today—or she will be, once her brain ceases its steady thumping. She's planning to show Wade some of her favorite tourist attractions, the sites that make New York the best city in the world. There will be plenty of time later to take him to all her secret, out-of-the-way spots; today is for the big guns.

She just wants to give him a sense of the place—of the magic to be found, even in what looks to him like concrete and chaos. She's very familiar with the fish-out-of-water feeling he has right now; her first weeks in Bluebell were a haze of blown fuses, fried catfish, and mosquitos, and the list of things she liked about it was pretty much limited to Maybelline's muffins. Even after she'd made connections with some of the people, the town itself took longer to grow on her.

The coffee has done its work, and she feels slightly more human. She goes back to her room, intending to take a shower. When she opens the door, however, the sight of Wade's bare chest, rumpled hair, and sleepy-eyed smirk somehow pull her right back into bed.

* * *

"Now we take a ferry out to the Statue."

"A boat? Oh, thank God. I like boats."

"Not a fan of the subway?" she asks, grinning up at him.

"I'll be happy to give you my opinion, soon as my teeth stop rattlin' around my head." He shoots her a sardonic look, but the corner of his mouth turns up just a little as they make for the causeway at Battery Park.

Leaning on the railing, he breathes deeply. "Nothin' like bein' stuck in a tin can, shootin' through Middle Earth, to make you appreciate fresh air. Or—" he looks at the smudge of orangey-brown on the horizon—"_fresher_ air, anyway."

Zoe laughs. All in all, Wade has been a pretty good sport so far. He put up with a lot of inside jokes and esoteric conversation last night, not to mention having this morning's…activities…curtailed by Candice's knock on the door. ("Does some alarm go off every time my hand goes up your top?" he had asked, snatching back the offending appendage.) And he's been game for this sightseeing trip, in spite of the freezing temperature…though he's a little better prepared for the cold today, since she insisted on buying him some real gloves and a blue "I (heart) NY" knit hat. Truth be told, he looks adorable, and she could barely restrain herself from kissing him senseless on the subway. No doubt he would've enjoyed the ride more if she had.

On the ferry, she points out some of the landmarks they can see—the spires of the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings, the Brooklyn Bridge, Wall Street…she's not really paying much attention to the sites themselves, though, because she doesn't want to miss a single second of his reactions. Mostly, he looks like he's concentrating, nodding along with what she says; then, as Lady Liberty rises above them, there's a split-second of awe on his face at the majesty of this iconic figure before he leans down to whisper in her ear: "So, is this like one of those Mile High challenges? Y'know, if you do it all the way up there—" he points to the Lady's torch—"you get some kinda prize?"

"Have a little respect for one of the great symbols of our democracy," she says sternly…but she can't help it if her eyes twinkle at him. "You can't go up higher than the crown, anyway."

"Spoilsport," he teases, and tightens his arms around her.

In the end, they only climb as far as the pedestal at the Lady's feet. Wade takes one look at the endless narrow staircase that spirals up to the Statue's crown and shakes his head. "If it's all the same to you, Doc, I'd rather do our canoodlin' someplace where I can breathe."

"You get claustrophobic?"

"Not exactly. I just don't like teeny little spaces that are up real high."

"But you never had a problem singing Earl down."

"The roof of the hardware store is only twenty feet off the ground and doesn't have any walls. This is a little different."

Zoe puts her arms around him. "It doesn't matter—I've been up there before. It's kinda overrated, if you want to know the truth."

She's starting to realize just how much of their lives have been hidden from each other—not on purpose, but just because certain things have never come up. There isn't a building in Bluebell that's more than three stories tall, so Wade's discomfort with high, small spaces was never an issue. The same was true when he heard her speaking Spanish; not much call for that in Southern Alabama.

"Don't let it worry you none. I've gotten through thirty years without it hinderin' me much, pretty sure I can get through the rest A-OK."

Maybe. _If we lived here, though, it might be tough_, points out the voice in the back of her mind. She stuffs the thought firmly away.

They go out on the pedestal deck and even from there, the views of Manhattan, Ellis Island, and New Jersey are amazing. She and Wade spend a very enjoyable hour wandering around the little island, with Zoe relating as much as she remembers from a ninth-grade History field trip, until Wade gets tired of reading plaques and monuments and pulls her behind a handy sycamore tree.

"I ever tell you about _my _favorite field trip?" he asks her, hooking his fingers into the belt loops on her jeans.

"Let me guess…exploring the wonders of your back seat?"

"Dr. Hart, just what are you insinuatin'? For your information, it was a trip to the USS _Alabama_, docked down in Mobile."

"Wow—really?" Zoe feels a little guilty for jumping to such a conclusion.

"Yeah…she was in Okinawa and everything. 'The Heroine of the Pacific,' they called her. Over a hundred guns—"

"That part you _would_ remember."

"—and one unlocked storage room that Mary Jane Peters and I just happened to find." Wade looks off into the distance, as if savoring the memory, until Zoe punches his arm. "Aw, Doc, you know I'm just rilin' you up. Matter of fact, MJ and I spent a whole hour in there building the world's tallest toilet paper pyramid…we were only ten at the time."

"You're the worst," she declares, but her arms go around him of their own accord as he lowers his face to her neck.

He nips her earlobe and whispers, "Am I?"

"Mmm-hmm." His hands find their way under her puffy down jacket, and all is silence in the little grove of trees for quite some time.

Eventually, they get chased out of the thicket by an imperturbable ranger and take the ferry back to Manhattan. Zoe convinces Wade to give the subway another try, and they head to Midtown, wandering through Rockefeller Center. The famous Christmas tree is still up, as well as the ice rink. Elbows resting on the parapet, they watch the skaters trace figure-eights on the ice. Wade takes Zoe's hand and pulls her over to the skate rental shack. "What are you doing?" she asks him. "You don't know how to skate."

He just raises an eyebrow at her. "I can get around." Watching her quickly lace up her skates, he says, "I bet you're good, though."

"My mom made me take lessons til I was twelve. I was so short, she hoped I could be the next Tara Lipinski." She rolls her eyes.

"How was your triple axel?"

"Best I could do was a wobbly double." He's laced up his skates now, so she says, "OK, let's go—just hold onto me."

Zoe clasps Wade's hand as they get on the ice, letting him lean on her. As soon as they are clear of the huddle of people at the entrance, however, Wade spins around and glides backwards, effortlessly leading her through the other skaters.

"You are full of surprises today!" she gasps, as they swing around a corner. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Wade grins. "There was a rink out in Fairhope. Harley thought it'd keep me outta trouble if I played hockey."

"And did it?"

"For awhile…then I started playin' football and Earl said that tryin' to get killed in one sport was enough." He spins around so they're skating side-by-side. "I'd learned to skate pretty good by then, though."

That much is obvious. If she hadn't learned her lesson this morning, she certainly has now: there's still a lot to discover about Wade Kinsella.

He leads her into the center of the rink and releases her hand. "All right, let's see what you got, girl."

It takes her a minute to shake the rust off, and then she is spinning and twirling, even trying a simple jump, which she lands creditably. All the while, he's skating around her, eyes gleaming, and when she's done with her solo performance, he comes back to her, spiraling her out under his arm and then back again, close in to his body, again and again until they're laughing so much they both almost lose their balance.

"OK, I'm done," Zoe declares. "My legs are like jelly."

"They still look pretty good to me…but I gotta confess, I have no feelin' left in my toes. How 'bout a break?" He gestures to a group of girls carrying insulated cups dripping with whipped cream.

"Hot chocolate?" An idea hits her. "I know just the place."

About fifteen minutes later, she pulls him through a set of glass doors and sniffs contentedly. God, she loves it here. A rich cocoa smell permeates the space; huge vats of molten chocolate dot the shop floor, and pipes run from them, up across the open kitchen, and down the wall on the other side of the restaurant.

"Welcome to Max Brenner's," she announces. "We used to come here after every exam when I was in undergrad. I swear, sometimes the thought of a Hug Mug was the only thing that got me through."

"Geez, Doc, I wish I'd known…I've been tryin' to put that blissed-out expression on your face for months."

The host shows them to a booth and they slide in. Zoe reaches across for his hand. "How do you like the city so far?"

"It's different…I probably coulda done without quite so many taxi drivers givin' me the one-finger salute…"

"Jaywalking in New York _is_ an acquired skill."

"S'pose I'll figure it out. Good thing I played a lot of Frogger when I was young."

Their hot chocolates arrive, thick and steaming in their special cups. Zoe shows Wade how to cradle his mug in his hands to warm them through. She can tell he feels a little silly, but indulges her anyway, and after the first sip, he's a true believer. "Damn."

"I know, right? It's like cocoa nirvana."

He takes another long draft, and considers. "Almost better than sex."

She nearly spits out a mouthful. "High praise from you," she chokes.

He puts down his cup, looking as though he wants to say something else, but doesn't. This isn't like him. "What is it?" she asks.

"Why didn't you want me to tell Sandra who Burt Reynolds really is?"

Zoe is taken aback by this question. She remembers the conversation, of course, but it didn't strike her as any big deal at the time. Clearly, Wade feels differently. "I don't know. It just seemed fun to let them think you're a secret celebrity."

"Except I'm not."

"You are to me," she tries to mollify him, but he just gazes back at her steadily. "If it's that important to you, I'll fix it with Sandra."

"Zoe, the truth about Lavon's alligator isn't the point. The point is, you asked me to come with you. Me—not some fantasy version of me that you've cooked up in your head. I need to know that's gonna be enough for you…'cause it's all I got."

Tears spring to her eyes. "Wade Kinsella, don't you dare think you might not be enough for me," she says fiercely. "I'm sorry if I made you feel less-than. It was just a stupid joke."

She can see the relief on his face, and he squeezes her hand. "OK, then."

"But for the record?" She swallows. "I _do_ think you're a good musician and I _do_ think you should pursue it, if it makes you happy."

The server brings her crêpe and his burger, and she lets go of his hand to tuck in. Lifting a bite of fudgy hazelnut heaven to her mouth, she asks tentatively, "So…can I take it that you weren't too fond of my friends?"

"Aw, Doc, c'mon…first of all, I hardly got to know them in one dinner where I didn't even understand what anyone was talkin' about. You've been there—when you first got to Bluebell, you couldn't even make out half of what Shula or Big Ethel were sayin', but you practically drowned them sobbin' when you hugged 'em goodbye. I'll get there." He smiles. "'Sides, we do have one thing in common: they obviously love you, and _I_ love you, which is a good enough start for me."

Comforted, Zoe turns her attention to her crêpe, which is the perfect combination of crispy around the edges and meltingly tender on the inside, and they eat in happy silence for a few minutes.

"So what's Gigi's deal?" he asks, setting what's left of his burger down.

Zoe chuckles, shaking her head. "Gigi…is what Bluebell folks would call a 'character.' She works for one of the biggest party-planning firms in New York—my mom uses them all the time when she needs to do a big event—and she's very, very good at it. For starters, she's lived here all her life, and her mom was on the board of just about every important charity in the city, so she knows _everyone_…and also? She plays up the ditzy-blonde thing, but she is _ruthless_. If you need an authentic log cabin built in the rooftop garden of the Plaza, Gigi's your girl. She once got Bono to show up at an event she was running, when he was only in town for twelve hours. _And _he sang."

"Well, I'm no Bono, but she did offer me a job, bartendin' a party next Saturday night. Somethin' she's doin' for Little Big Town?"

Zoe feels a rush of gratitude to her old friend. She knows how worried Wade has been about making some money, and this is a perfect opportunity for him to get started. Besides, she'll be swamped this weekend trying to read all the latest research in the cardio-thoracic field, and she won't have much time to spend with him. "That's great!" She notices Wade looking down at his plate. "It is, right?"

He shifts in his seat. "Yeah, seems like a good opportunity, definitely. It's just…" He rubs his hand over the back of his neck, and understanding hits her.

"Did she flirt with you?"

Wade starts guiltily. "Uh—I didn't—"

Zoe waves a hand. "Oh my God, that girl is incorrigible. Flirting is literally her default setting—I once found her winking at the coatrack in the entryway. To be fair, it _is_ tall, dark, and handsome, but still…" She grins at Wade's somewhat nonplussed expression and takes his hand again. "Not that you're not totally flirt-worthy—" She runs a finger across his palm—"it's just she doesn't mean anything by it."

"Well, all right. I guess I'll be pullin' out all my best moves on Saturday night." He mimes pouring a drink and tossing a cocktail shaker.

"Maybe don't save _all_ your best moves for Saturday," Zoe says suggestively, feeling an overwhelming urge to kiss the cocky smirk she loves so much. "In fact, if you've had enough sightseeing, maybe we should head back…"

Wade signals for the check faster than she can blink.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**As you can see, this chapter is a little bit of a love letter to New York, a city I've only visited a handful of times. If you've never been there, check out Max Brenner's website…utterly drool-worthy. :)**


	4. Little Town Blues

**A/N: **Posting this a little early…next update might take a bit longer. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter Four: Little Town Blues**

Lounging on the white couch, Wade listlessly plays a C-chord.

_Bored_, it seems to say.

G-

_Bored_

F-sharp-

_Bored!_

Setting his guitar down, he pushes himself up and wanders over to the windows. The city spreads out before him, and he can recognize, now, some of the buildings he sees.

_It's the biggest city in America, Wade. A million things to do. How can you be bored?_ The voice in his head sounds so much like Zoe's that he turns around…but no, the bedroom door is still closed and the room behind him is empty.

_Lots of people wouldn't want to waste a minute staring out of windows in this town. Get out there and DO something!_

This directive would be more enticing if the current weather on offer wasn't a sleety, driving rain, which did nothing to improve the dirty piles of slushy snow half-obscuring the sidewalks.

Surprisingly, he has enjoyed most of his first week in New York. He and Zoe spent the first three days sightseeing, and he loved experiencing the city through her eyes. But now she's in full lockdown mode, trying to catch up with all the research and case studies she missed during her time in Bluebell. Wade spent yesterday job-searching, applying at several bars and restaurants in the neighborhood and just beyond, and now is waiting to hear.

_Come to think of it…_He pulls out his phone, hoping to see a missed call or text from an unfamiliar 212 area code. No such luck, but it does give him an idea.

_How the hell are ya?_ he types, fingers awkward on the small keyboard. These things are clearly sized for the ladies—or the kids he sees everywhere, texting so fast their hands are a blur.

**Lavon Hayes** 1:47pm

Good! How's things in the Big Apple?

_Noisy. Crowded. Great hot chocolate, though._

**Lavon Hayes**

:) And Big Z?

Wade glances over to the door again. She's been in there all day.

_Apparently trying—_He stops mid-text, realizing that actually talking will be much quicker (and a hell of a lot easier on his thumbs). He taps Lavon's number.

"Get tired of texting?" Lavon says, laughter in his voice.

"It's too damn cold here to let your fingers do the talkin'."

"I was there in January once—played the Giants in the Wild Card. It was brutal. Thought all my parts might freeze right there on the field."

"And what a loss that woulda been."

"Shut up. How's Z?"

"Trying to swallow about a million pages of research in three days."

"She does like to be prepared."

"Don't I know it," Wade remarks ruefully. "Hey, have you seen my dad around?" Earl doesn't have a cellphone, and the last time Wade called the shack, no one answered.

"Yep. He and Mae were in the Butter Stick this mornin'. Not sure I've ever seen a man so googly-eyed. Other than that, he looks fine."

"That's good. What else is goin' on?"

"The Jammer's survivin'…Wally hired a new bartender. Maybe you remember his wife—she was friends with Lemon in high school. Annabeth Thibodaux?"

"Redheaded cheerleader?"

"Yup. You knew her?"

"She left Prom with me in…what was that…junior year?"

"_You_ went to Prom?"

"Nope."

Lavon's chuckle rumbles down the line. "You dawg."

"Yeah, well, I'm a reformed character now." _Fat lot of good it's doin' me at the moment, _he thinks, but does not say. "Any other news?"

"There was a little ruckus between Tom Long and Frank—hang on a sec—" Lavon's voice goes distant and garbled for a minute; then he comes back on the line. "Damnit! Sorry, man, I gotta go. Prince Purr-fection climbed up the freakin' elm tree next to the gazebo again and the Fillmore Fire Department says they won't come out again—it's the third time in a month. Shula's havin' a cow."

Wade can just picture the older woman's face, her glasses smudged with tears. "No worries, man. Talk—" But he doesn't get to finish the sentence; he hears a high-pitched screech that causes him to pull the phone away from his ear.

"Now, Shula calm down…need to get my own damn fire brigade," Lavon mutters, and the line goes dead.

Wade checks the time: 2:00. His stomach rumbles; it's long past time for lunch, and he heads to their room.

Zoe is sitting crosslegged in a sea of papers, her hair in a messy bun on top of her head, highlighter in hand. She doesn't even look up as he comes in, carefully setting himself behind her in a paper-free zone and rubbing her shoulders. "Lunch break?" he asks hopefully, kissing the top of her head.

"Ugh," she groans, rolling her neck back against the pressure of his hands. "No time. I'll just grab a bagel."

"Another one? You can't survive on just bagels, girl."

"You can if they're from Paymer's." She twists around to look up at him. "I'm sorry. I know I'm no fun. You should go out, though—there's an amazing pizza place on First and 66th."

"Doc, you've been at this since seven a.m."

She bristles slightly. "I can't go in on Monday unprepared, Wade."

"They expect you to know everything anybody's said about heart surgery this millennium?" he jokes.

"Actually, yes. How can I be a good surgeon if I'm not up on the latest research? Not to mention techniques and equipment—" She grabs a fistful of papers—"God, I'm so behind!"

The muscles in her shoulders tense under his hands, and he realizes he's not going to win this argument. Sighing, he kisses her hair one more time, and grabs his jacket. "Guess I'll head down to that strip joint on Seventh, then."

"Sounds good. Have fun." She waves him off, already sucked back into her reading.

* * *

Wade duly goes and gets the pizza—which, as promised, _is_ amazing. He brings a few slices back to the apartment, hoping he can at least get her to come out of their room for five minutes to eat them…which she does, exclaiming with pleasure as the grease runs down her arm, but returning to her journal and highlighter as soon as she's finished.

He's never seen her like this. In Bluebell, she went into the office, treated her patients, and came home. Occasionally, of course, there was an emergency, or a baby that refused to be born during the workday, and once in awhile she had to do a little research to diagnose a difficult case (though, more often than not, she had learned to go straight to Brick, who had a wider knowledge of unusual diseases and conditions than might be expected for a small-town GP). But she didn't bring patient files or family medicine journals home to pore over. He knows she's nervous, feels like she's been out of the surgery game and has to catch up, but it's exhausting watching her wear herself out. He can only hope it'll get better once she's actually on the job.

He knows, too, that it'd help if he didn't feel so utterly useless at the moment, so much like a hanger-on, a lackey waiting to be called into life by her attention. On that note, he decides he might as well go work off some of the pizza in the gym downstairs.

The whole concept of "working out" is a little foreign to him. Back in Bluebell, he got plenty of exercise just plain _working_: lugging boxes at the Rammer Jammer, maintaining the plantation, random construction jobs he picked up, and general upkeep on Earl's place all kept him in good shape. If he'd had a lazy week, he might go for a run with Zoe, which usually led to much more interesting calisthenics afterward.

Here, manual labor seems to happen magically, and there aren't any projects, requiring heavy lifting or otherwise. As a result, though they've walked miles around the city, he still finds himself buzzing with restless energy.

Changing into track pants and a sweatshirt, he heads down to the lobby. He's about to scan his keycard into the gym when Javy comes through the door to the garage, wearing a work shirt and jeans, sleeves rolled up and wiping his hands on a blue rag. This is a little odd—they've crossed paths several times this week, and Wade has never seen him in anything other than a suit and tie.

"Hey, Javy! What's up?"

"Wade! Good to see you."

"Something wrong with the Lexus?" Wade indicates the splotches of what look like motor oil on the rag.

"No. I take it to be serviced every three months. Runs like a top. It's _my_ car, unfortunately—it's been leaking, but I can't figure out where from. I should've taken it in today, since it's my afternoon off, except the body shops around here are bloodsuckers**.**"

Finally—an opportunity to be of use! "Want me to take a look?" Wade offers.

"You know cars?"

"I got an old Chevelle—constantly havin' to tinker around with it."

"That'd be great, if you don't mind." They head into the garage, where Javy's car is parked in the tandem spot in front of the Lexus. It's an early 2000s Camry, the paint faded and a bit worn-through in places, but spotlessly clean. The hood is already up, and the battery terminals loosened. He checks the various lines feeding out of the engine—no visible cracks or holes. "D'you have a dolly?" he asks Javy.

The older man just raises an eyebrow at him and gestures around at the pristine garage. "I'm probably not even supposed to have the hood open in here."

Wade spots a skateboard in one corner, next to a few bikes chained in a rack. "This'll do—think anyone will mind?"

"I won't tell if you don't."

Wade slides under the car, noting that this is probably the most at-home he's felt since he's been in New York. He examines the supply and the return, and finally traces the leak to a cooler line. "Got it!" he says triumphantly, sliding back out. "It's the cooler. If you can get hold of a new one, I can install it for you."

"Closest auto-parts store is down on 57th and Amsterdam."

Wade shrugs. "I've got time if you do."

Javy tosses Wade a rag. "Thanks."

* * *

"How long have you been in the city?" Wade asks him on their way downtown.

"We got here in 1982. We had come up from El Salvador to Houston in '79, but my dad could only get work as a gardener or a field hand down there. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but my dad had a black thumb—pretty much killed any green thing he touched."

"What did he do in El Salvador?"

"He was a banker—smartest guy I've ever known where money's concerned. But in the coup, the banks all failed and he was out of work. When they started again, they were all run by the cartels—my dad wasn't getting into that. So we left."

"How did you end up in New York?"

"My mom had a cousin here who worked as a security guard at JP Morgan. He got my dad a job in the mailroom—it paid nothing."

"That must've been hard."

"It was—we lived down in the East Village, which was a rough neighborhood then. My mom worked as a maid, and the rest of us all had to get jobs after school. My older brother joined the Army, so we would have one less mouth to feed and he could get an education." Javy turns right, passing Central Park. "After a year, when my dad's English was better, he applied for a junior analyst position and just worked his way up. When he passed in '05, he was in management. All of us got through college, got good jobs, raised families…"

"American dream, sounds like."

"You could say. In the beginning, sometimes it didn't seem like it would be worth it—my dad had to work so many years just to get back to the same level he'd been at in El Salvador."

"Ever wish you would've stayed?"

"No. I was seventeen when we left. One more year and I would've had to join the national party, or pay protection money. My brothers and I never would've been able to make anything of ourselves—probably would've ended up shot—or shooting. At least here, we had a chance."

"Sometimes, that's all you need."

"What about your family? They been in Alabama long?"

"Far's I know, at least since my great-grandaddy's time." Wade looks out the window, thinking about the uphill climb Javy and his family have faced, and how comparatively little he's done with his own life against fewer obstacles…how safe he had played it for the first thirty years, until he met Zoe.

They get the part, and Wade's able to install it in the store's tiny parking lot. They're on their way back uptown inside of a half-hour.

When they part ways at the elevator, Javy thanks him again. "Happy to help," Wade replies.

"Let me know when I can take you out for a beer."

Wade is about to get on the elevator, but turns around and steps out. "No time like the present—unless you need to get home."

"Nope, I'm free."

"I'll just change and see if I can pry Zoe away from her journals. That OK?"

"Sounds great."

He goes up to the apartment to find Zoe still working away, but showered, dressed, and at the dining table, which seems like a good sign. "Hey gorgeous," he greets her, sweeping her hair from her neck and kissing her shoulder. "How'd you like to spend the evening with not one, but _two_ hot prospects?"

Her hand cups his cheek. "Yeah? You make a new friend in the gym?"

"Nope. Javy."

"Javy?" She looks up at him in surprise.

"Mmm-hmm. I helped him fix his car, and he wants to take us out on the town to say thanks."

Glancing back down at her reading, she sighs. "I'd love to, but I really—"

"Zoe, come on," he says, with quiet steel in his voice.

At first, he thinks she might protest, but when she meets his eyes, she merely nods. "I'll just change."

It's ridiculous how those three little words make his heart sing.

* * *

Javy takes them to Bahia, over in Brooklyn. It's the first time Wade has crossed a bridge since he's been here, and though the funky little neighborhood looks to him just like several others he's seen, Javy and Zoe assure him that Brooklyn has its own unique flavor. The place is family-run and the owner greets Javy by name as they come in.

He orders for all of them in rapid Spanish. The food starts arriving and just doesn't stop. There are little sandwiches, and meat stuffed in pastry, and rice and beans and fajitas, and it's all fantastic. After they've been there about an hour, a trio with a guitar, a small xylophone, and some bongo drums sets up in a tiny space at the back and starts playing what Javy says is Cumbian music. People get up and start dancing in between the tables, and Wade shoots a look at Zoe.

"You ready to cut a rug, babe?"

Zoe, mellowed by a couple of glasses of the rum-based drink called _flor_, grins at him and stands up so fast her chair almost falls. The two of them dance their way around the restaurant, following a general migration, and then the music slows to something sad, but still a little sultry, and he gathers her close.

As they sway together, she sends a little wave across the room to Javy and sighs. Wade looks down at her in surprise. "What's on your mind now, Doc?"

"Did he talk about his wife at all today?"

"No—we were mostly talking about his growin'-up years."

"Her name was Rosa. You've never seen a man so in love…Javy and Rosa were really the only example of a _good_ marriage I saw as a kid. She died three years ago—an aneurysm. It was awful. For awhile, we worried he'd go down with her…and then he rallied, for his kids' sake, I think. But now, they're out of the house and he's alone—some days my mother's the only person he talks to—"

Wade shudders in sympathy.

"I just wish he could find someone."

"He's a great guy—definitely deserves to be happy."

Zoe stops dancing and stands up straight. "You know what? You're right. He does."

Wade recognizes the look on her face. "Oh, no—not again."

"What? It worked out for Lemon and Lavon."

"Yeah, and we practically burned down the Rammer Jammer in the process! Maybe stick to surgery, sweetheart—less dangerous for the hearts of all concerned."

"Fine," she says, though he knows she's just appeasing him. He can practically see the wheels turning in her head.

God help Javy.

* * *

The address Gigi gave him is a restaurant converted from a warehouse space in the Meatpacking District. He goes in the back door, as instructed; she's told him she has a uniform for him to wear, so he shows up in work boots, jeans, and an old shirt under his peacoat.

He finds her in the cavernous kitchen, speaking rapidly into a headset. "Yeah. The crawfish. Where the hell is it? Uh-huh. OK. You've got one hour, or I'm putting _your_ ass on that platter." She pushes a button on her set to cut off the call and acknowledges Wade, who has stowed his coat in a service closet. "Oh—you got your uniform already. Great."

Wade looks down at the worn flannel and faded jeans and is about to protest, but Gigi takes another call. "Go for Gigi—" and she's off.

He looks around the kitchen at the other waitstaff bustling in and out with crates of vegetables, boxes of cutlery, and a wheeled catering refrigerator. An older woman in a chef's toque marches in and starts barking orders, and Wade figures he better get out of the way, so he passes through the swinging doors into the dining room.

It's very industrial-chic, exposed pipes running across the twenty-foot high ceiling, a huge air vent providing a kind of decoration on one brick wall, and steel and iron bands running across the others. As Wade watches, though, delivery staff unload potted trees—actual _trees_—from a truck emblazoned with "Bowers from the Bowery" on the side, and soon the massive space looks more like the park by Bluebell Pier than a warehouse, complete with trailing willows and magnolia bushes. There are shrimp traps, nets, and burlap sacks draped artfully over the tables that line the dance floor, and stacked on a small stage at the end of the room.

Turning his attention to the walnut-topped bar, Wade starts familiarizing himself with the organization of the glasses, shakers, blenders, and bottles stored there. True to her words, Gigi has provided him all the ingredients he needs to make not only the obvious Alabama Slammer and Mint Julep, but also his own concoctions, including the delicious-but-deadly Sweet Tea Surprise and the slightly more mellow Roll Tide. He's even made up an entirely new drink, in a nod to Gigi's faux pas at their dinner party: the Bluebonnet, composed of sloe gin, apple liqueur, soda water, and a swirl of mayhaw jelly. (Wade honestly didn't think she would be able to find that last ingredient, considering the only mayhaw jelly he's ever eaten was made by his grandmother's own two hands. He'd mostly included the Bluebonnet recipe as a jibe at her, but she must be even more resourceful than Zoe suggested.)

There are a couple copies of the special drinks menu neatly printed, ready to be placed in plastic sign holders on the bar, so Wade sets these up and then gets to work prepping ingredients.

He's macerating some berries and mint when a tall, chestnut-haired guy, probably early-twenties, approaches him and introduces himself as Trey, the other bartender working that night.

"Good to meet you, Trey." The younger man is dressed just like he is, in a flannel over a t-shirt and jeans…only Trey's flannel is new, a bright blue, collar stiff around the edges, and the jeans still have a crease down the front of the legs as if they were just taken off the shelf. He smothers a smile—no wonder Gigi thought he already had his uniform on.

Trey opens the hinged counter and steps behind the bar. "What can I help with?"

As the two of them slice, blend, and prep, they fall to talking. "You been doin' this awhile?" Wade asks him.

"Got my license two years ago," he shrugs. "Just wanted the option of some extra income…I've been modeling since I was 17, started in flyers and direct mail, then online retail, and now I've done a couple of trunks and a thirty-second spot or two. You know the drill."

"Not…exactly," Wade replies, having no idea what "trunks" and "spots" refer to.

"You're not in the business?" Wade shakes his head. "Oh, sorry, man—I just assumed—Gigi likes to hire the eye candy, if you know what I mean. You an actor, then? You do a great Southern accent."

Wade has to give props to Zoe's friend Alex for calling this. "Nope, I'm just a bartender, funny enough. From Alabama, in fact."

Trey starts back as though Wade has said "From the moon, in fact." "Wow! Well, if you ever want to make some extra cash, let me know. That scruffy look you've got going is really hot right now—I'd probably get more jobs if I could grow more than peach fuzz." He rubs his smooth cheek regretfully. "So if you're not trying to break into show business, what brought you to New York?"

It's funny—Zoe has always talked about how intrusive the Bluebellians are, wanting to know everything about a person, and contrasting that to New York, where, she says, you could wander naked down Broadway and no one would give you a second look. ("Is that a challenge?" he'd asked at the time.) But so far, he's found New Yorkers to be nearly as nosy…not that he minds, in this instance. Other than his talk with Javy yesterday, he's hardly had a conversation with anyone besides Zoe since he's been here.

"My girlfriend got a fellowship here. For heart surgery," he can't help adding, with no small amount of pride.

Trey looks impressed. "Guess she's the brains of the family," he jokes, and then cringes. "Sorry—that sounded less insulting in my head."

"That's OK—it's absolutely true," Wade chuckles. Trey is a little all over the place, but he certainly is friendly, and he could use a friend. So he lets Trey's accidental insult roll off his back.

At ten o'clock, the crowd starts pouring in. Wade and Trey work well together, bouncing comments off each other, tossing bottles back and forth, and generally contributing to the good-time atmosphere. Wade realizes he's having fun, especially as he sees the tip jar fill up with fives and tens, instead of the usual singles and change he gets at home. If he's not mistaken, there are a few phone numbers in there too, but he plans to pass those to Trey.

The press of people increases when Little Big Town saunters in around eleven. Though they've just given a two-hour concert, they still come up on stage and do a few numbers. Wade watches the crowd's reaction and makes a mental note to help Wally book more big names at the Rammer Jammer when he gets back. There's something about really good music that puts people in a spending mood.

Gigi comes to check on them, still wearing her headset. "How you doing?" she shouts over the din.

Wade grins. "Nobody's goin' thirsty."

She eyes the glasses that litter the bar, the tables, and, in many cases, are held high in the hands of folks on the dance floor, and agrees. "I think you're right."

"Get you anythin'?" Wade offers.

"Yes," she answers. "But can't drink on the job—ask me in two hours."

"Fair enough."

"Did Zoe show up yet? I texted her an invite." Then, at Wade's look of surprise—"Maybe she didn't get it."

If she had, she certainly hadn't mentioned it to _him_…of course, they'd hardly spoken all day, Zoe having spent another ten hours curled up with her research. It was entirely possible that she hadn't checked her phone.

Come to think of it, Wade hasn't either, at least not since he got here. He pulls it out of his pocket and the home screen lights up to display…nothing. It's eleven-thirty; she's probably fallen asleep, cheek pressed to a page, he thinks, feeling a mix of exasperation and affection. On a whim, he taps on the camera and leans over to Gigi. "Let's show her what she's missin'." He takes a selfie of the two of them grinning, the crowd a blur in the background. "One more," he says, and as he pushes the home button, Gigi turns and kisses his cheek.

Wade sends the first photo, but not the second, with a text that reads, "Wish you were here." He decides not to mention Gigi's invitation—Zoe wouldn't be able to get here before the party's over anyway.

Someone buzzes in Gigi's headset, and she says, "I gotta go. Keep up the good work!" Giving Wade a smile and a wink, she disappears back through the kitchen doors.

A little later, he's serving a statuesque black woman with an Afro and huge gold hoops in her ears. There's an elegance about her that catches the eye, and Wade is wondering if she's a celebrity he just doesn't recognize (this being a pretty large category of people) when Trey yells over his shoulder, "Margot!"

The woman looks over at him and smiles. "Didn't know you were working tonight, Trey."

"Yeah, well, no shoot tomorrow, so I figured, why not? Oh, hey, this is Wade—he's the genuine article. An _actual_ bartender from _actual_ Alabama."

Margot raises her Sweet Tea Surprise. "Well, _actual_ Wade, hope you're enjoying New York."

"Yeah…it's been an experience, ma'am."

Margot puts a hand over her heart. "And the accent too? You're the whole package, honey." She examines him appraisingly. "This is going to sound so cliché, but have you ever done any modeling down there in Alabama?"

"I told you, man." Trey hits him on the arm. "Margot's my agent. She's always looking for the next 'new face.'"

"Got it," replies Wade. "Well ma'am, no modeling—not for public consumption, anyway." He can't help a slight smirk.

Opening her tiny clutch, Margot takes out a card and hands it to him. "If you ever want to give it a try, call me."

"Thanks, but—" Wade can't think of a polite way to say he finds the idea totally absurd, so he cuts himself off and gives her what Zoe calls his "church-social" smile instead, putting the card in his shirt pocket. "Nice meeting you, Margot."

Someone hails her then, and she turns from the bar. "Catch you Monday," Trey calls. "Oh—and see if you can get me that Ford audition!" Her backwards wave is the only indication she's heard him. "You should really take her up on it," he says to Wade. "The money's great, even if it's not very steady…but hey, that's what tending bar is for!"

"Yeah, we'll see," Wade says noncommittally.

At the end of the night, he and Trey split the tip jar between them; Wade's made a tidy $250, plus the hourly Gigi's company pays, which is about double what he'd make at the Rammer Jammer. Of course, his money will only go half as far here as in Bluebell—if that. "Pleasure workin' with you, man," he says to Trey, and goes to grab his coat.

At the service closet, Gigi stops him; she's finally taken her headset off and set down her clipboard, and looks far more relaxed. "Hey—don't you owe me a drink?"

Wade turns back to the bar. "We've cleaned everything up—what'd you like?"

"Oh, God, not here—we've been here too many hours already! Let's go around the corner. I know a great place."

He runs a hand through his hair, wanting nothing more right now than to collapse into bed. "I'm beat," he tells her, hoping he's not burning a bridge. Tonight has been extremely lucrative, and it was fun to boot. "Come on over to Candice's tomorrow and I'll mix you up something special. Zoe'd love to see you."

Her smile wavers, but she tosses her hair back. "Yeah, sure. Sounds good. Give her my love."

When he finally gets back to the apartment, he takes his boots off at the door to avoid making any noise on the polished-wood floor. He tiptoes past the living room and stops—Zoe is passed out on the couch, one arm flung over her head and a stack of journals at her side. His heart squeezes almost painfully, looking at her, the worry and concentration smoothed from her face in sleep.

Trying not to wake her, he picks her up in his arms. She snuggles into his neck as he carries her back to their room. "You're home," she sighs drowsily, eyes still closed.

"Yeah, baby, I am."

Pulling the covers back, he lays her down gently and shucks off his clothes. Then he slips in beside her, curling himself around her body.

_Home_.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**A/N 2: **A word about AB's appearance here: hope you can forgive the artistic license I've taken with her backstory. I inadvertently omitted she and Rose from CIJ, but would like to have them hanging around Bluebell for this story (and possibly others in this universe), so decided to introduce her now.

Reviews, as always, welcomed!


	5. If I Can Make It There

**A/N: First, thanks, as always, for the reviews and follows—I'm loving the feedback! Second, there are a lot of medical references in this chapter, and I'm not a doctor. If I've gotten anything outrageously wrong, please let me know so I can correct it. Speaking of corrections, thanks to Ultrawoman for the heads-up on AB's maiden name, and to a Guest reviewer for reminding me that Zoe went to Johns Hopkins. **

**I think that's it for now. Hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter Five: If I Can Make It There**

Zoe opens her eyes and stretches luxuriously. What time did she fall asleep last night? It must've been early—she feels more refreshed than she has for several days…she's even awoken before her alarm.

She rolls over and grabs her phone, shielding the screen from Wade so as not to wake him. All her care is for naught when she sees the time and screams, "WHAT?" It's 8:30! Her alarm was supposed to go off at 7:00, so she could shower, have a decent breakfast…she should be leaving RIGHT NOW if she's going to make it to the hospital by 9:00!

Wade shoots up as she scrambles out of the bed, trying to grab a skirt and a blouse and a bra from three different places, all at the same time. "What's wrong, Doc? 'Sthere a fire?"

"No—my damn alarm didn't go off. I'm going to be so late!" she wails.

Wade goes into fix-it mode. "OK, try to calm down—" She glares at him. "What can I do?" he amends.

She tosses him her Kate Spade messenger bag while stepping into her skirt. "Can you put all the files on the dining table in here?"

Somehow, she gets out of the apartment in under ten minutes, figuring she can do her hair and makeup on the train. She sprints to the station, having at least remembered to put on her one pair of flats (her heels are in her bag, of course). The doors are about to close as she pounds down the platform, but she slips inside at the last second, even as the subway warden shouts at her. An older man gets up and gives her his seat—"Looks like you need it more than I do"—and she nearly cries with gratitude.

Up from the subway, and she's running again. She bursts through the doors of New York Pres at 9:07 and runs straight to the elevators. For some reason, the cardiac surgery floor isn't listed. She asks a few of the people hurrying on and off the elevators for directions, but they either don't hear her or look her up and down with disdain at her scattered appearance. "God damn New York," she swears under her breath, and punches the button for Surgical Floor Two, praying it's the right one.

Once off the elevator, she races to the first desk she sees. "Can you tell me where cardio-thoracic is?" she pants.

A beautifully-made up nurse, not a hair out of place, looks up at her. "This is the cardio-thoracic department." She points at a huge sign above her head and smiles insincerely.

"Oh, thank God. My name is Zoe Hart. I'm part of the fellowship group that starts today? I know I'm late—"

The nurse checks a list. "Yes, they've already started. What did you say your name was?"

"Zoe Hart. H-A-R-T."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Hart—" she says 'Dr.' as though Zoe's title is in question—"but you're not on my list."

This is more than Zoe can take, and to her utter mortification, she bursts into tears. A man walks up. "Is there a problem?" he asks the nurse.

"I'm in the fellowship group—cardio-thoracic—Brian Zendek is the chair—"

"I'm Brian Zendek," says the man.

Zoe grabs the sleeve of his white coat. "Oh, Dr. Zendek, I'm Zoe Hart—you emailed me? I'm not on the list—there must be some mistake—"

Dr. Zendek very deliberately picks her hand off of his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Ms….Hart, did you say? But I've never heard of you." To the nurse, he says in an undertone, "Call security."

Two burly men in blue uniforms come out of nowhere. Each grabs one of Zoe's arms, and she tries to wrench away from them, screaming that she belongs—

"Zoe! C'mon, baby, what is it? You're thrashin' worse than a catfish left on the deck—"

She comes to herself with a gasp, realizing Wade is trying to subdue her flailing limbs, whispering, "Shhh…shhh now. It's OK. I'm right here."

"What time is it?" she demands, heart still pounding.

"It's three a.m….what in Sam Hill happened?"

Zoe grabs her phone, wanting to make absolutely sure. 3:05. While she's at it, she double-checks that her alarm is, in fact, set for 7:00 and the volume turned all the way up. Then she collapses on the pillow, hands over her face.

"It was a nightmare," she confesses. "I was late, and I ran, and they didn't know who I was—" Her voice starts shaking, even in retrospect.

"Were you in your underwear, too?" Wade chuckles, and gets a slap across his arm for his pains. "It's over now, darlin'. C'mere." He pulls her against him. "Now get some sleep."

She sits up. "I can't! I'm wide awake now. Maybe I'll just get up and—"

"Uh-uh." He tugs her back down. "You'll be a wreck if you go in on your first day on three hours' sleep." Putting an arm around her, he exclaims, "Damn, girl, you're strung tighter than my guitar! You need a Wade Special."

"I really don't think—" she starts, feeling like sex is the last thing she wants. But he's kneading her shoulders, and it feels so good—

"I was talkin' about a massage. Get your mind outta the gutter, Dr. Hart." He rolls her over onto her stomach and gets started. She takes deep breaths and tries to clear her mind of anything but his strong hands gliding over her back. Little by little, she can feel herself sinking into the mattress, and when he starts on her calves, using his thumbs to rub long strokes up and down, it's like heaven. He runs his palms up over her hamstrings, smoothing the muscles there, and all the way to her shoulders again, then kisses the back of her neck chastely and lays back down. "Better?" he whispers.

She turns to face him, her body feeling deliciously loose. "You are the best man on the planet."

Brushing her hair back, he kisses her softly, and a bright burst of desire suddenly explodes inside her. Pulling him closer, she deepens the kiss until they're both breathless. Her muscles coil up again, but for a very different reason this time.

"I thought you didn't—" he starts to say, but she only covers his mouth with hers again, straddling him and running her hands over his chest, stopping at the waistband of his boxers.

"Can I?" she asks throatily, and he grins up at her.

"Whatever you need, Doc. I'm here for you."

Afterward, she collapses against him, once again boneless and sated. He slides her down to the bed, and pillowed on his chest, she sleeps dreamlessly until the alarm goes off.

* * *

"You don't have to," she says, looking up from the eggs he's insisted she eat.

"I got nothin' to do until that interview at one," he replies, setting a glass of juice down in front of her. "Unless…you don't want me to—"

She catches his hand and draws him down for a kiss. "I would _love_ it if you came with me."

"Is Wade going to walk you to class on your first day? How sweet," Candice says, coming into the kitchen to pour coffee into a travel mug.

The sarcasm in her tone is unmistakeable, and Zoe shoots her an annoyed glance. "_I_ think it is," she declares, as Wade runs a hand over his face.

"Eggs, Candice?" he offers.

"Oh my, no—I never eat breakfast."

"Most important meal of the day, Mother. And—" Zoe takes a huge bite—"they're delicious," she says around her mouthful.

"Zoe! Honestly!" Candice exclaims, while Wade hides a smile. "Remember, we're not in Bluebell now."

"Oh, don't you worry, Candice," Wade offers. "Miss Manners has nothin' on Lemon Breeland. Girl, she would strike you down," he comments to Zoe.

"Gotta go," Zoe says, chuckling, and heads back to the bedroom.

Promptly at 8:15, she and Wade are on their way down to the lobby. As they get out of the elevator, Frank calls to them. "Where you two going at this hour?"

"First day of my fellowship, Frank. Want to get there bright and early."

"Oh, right! Then you know what we have to do—" starts the older man.

"No, we really don't—" Zoe insists, while Wade looks on in confusion.

"Young lady, I've been taking a photo of you on your first day since you were three. Don't deny an old man."

Grinning, Wade nudges her. "C'mon, Z, it'll be one for the scrapbooks."

Zoe rolls her eyes at both of them, but hands Frank her phone. He snaps a shot of her alone, and one with Wade.

"You happy now?" she asks.

Frank beams. "Made my day. Now, remember what I always told you—" He tweaks her scarf affectionately. "Don't let the turkeys get you down," he and Zoe say simultaneously.

* * *

She and Wade make it to the hospital without incident, and he scans the huge building, such a contrast to the tiny, homey practice in Bluebell.

"Looks like you're in the big leagues now, Doc."

She takes a deep breath, wondering for a second if she's ready. He must see her hesitation on her face, because he assures her, "You got this."

He stands there, hands in his pockets, and shoulders hunched against the cold, as though he's not sure he should reach for her. Feeling a rush of love for him, she pulls him to her by the lapels of his coat and stands on tiptoe to kiss him. Smiling down at her, he brushes his thumb over her cheek. "Now get in there and give 'em hell."

Then he's off, walking backward down the street, and she turns to go in the massive glass doors.

In contrast to her nightmare, everything's clearly marked, and she finds her way to the cardiac floor easily. There's no one at the first nurses' station that she comes to, and she's just considering what to do when a woman approaches her. Dressed in a black skirt, plum-colored sweater, and sensible heels, she carries a clipboard and some files and has a pencil stuck through her thick black French knot.

"Can I help you?" she asks.

"I'm Dr. Zoe Hart—part of Dr. Zendek's cardio-thoracic fellowship group?"

"Dr. Hart! I'm Carmen Esposito, the department administrator. So nice to meet you! I'll show you where you can put your things and send you down to HR where you can get your hospital ID. Your group will be meeting at 10:00 in—" she checks her clipboard—"Conference Room B."

Zoe fills out what seems like reams of paperwork, is fingerprinted and photographed, and receives a plastic clip-on badge that will serve as her keycard and ID. She's back up in the conference room by 9:50.

It's empty except for one young Asian man. He sits at the table, nervously tapping his pen on a notepad. As Zoe comes in, he rises from his chair and bows slightly.

"Hi," she says, crossing over to shake his hand. "I'm Zoe Hart."

"Alvin Chang," he replies, pushing up a pair of black glasses that have slipped down his nose.

They sit back down. "Where're you from, Alvin?"

"Uh, originally, China? But I just finished my residency at Stanford?" Zoe wonders if everything he says will be in the form of a question.

"That's impressive."

"Thank you." _Guess not_. "And you?"

"Oh, I—" Zoe cuts herself off as several other people file into the room.

Once everyone is settled, a black woman, perhaps in her early fifties, calls the room to order. "Welcome! I'm Tamara Jenkins, the fellowship program supervisor. We're happy to have you here at New York Presbyterian. As you know, this is a very prestigious program, and our standards are exacting. If you make a mistake, it's likely to be fatal to your patient, so there is no room for error."

She pauses to glance around the room, making eye contact with each one of them.

_She's terrifying_.

Zoe has known doctors like this before, who want to rock you off-balance and scare the pants off you, so you're too afraid to come to them with any anxiety or whining. They may be very effective surgeons, but they're also cold-hearted automatons.

_Just like I might've been_, Zoe thinks.

"Now, I'd like you to introduce yourselves," Dr. Jenkins is saying.

They go around the room, and everyone's experience and background are very impressive. There are two blond women that Zoe initially had taken for twins; she sees now that this is not the case—it was just their similar haircuts, outfits, and matching expressions of superiority that fooled her. The first, Dr. Anderson, is from Boston, and did a post-doc at the Mayo Clinic, while Dr. Jarrett, from Pennsylvania originally, is just coming off a consulting stint at Abbott Labs where she patented a new cardiac monitor. Next to them is Dr. Shankar, a tall Indian man with a BBC-sounding accent who studied at Oxford before attending Harvard Med; to his left is Dr. Scott, who was at the Cleveland Clinic and then became the youngest faculty member at Columbia. Then there's Dr. Sundaresan, a petite woman who was recently in Haiti with Doctors Without Borders. And, of course, Alvin, who, now that Zoe looks more closely, seems very, very young.

Finally, it's Zoe's turn. "Well…I graduated from Johns Hopkins, did my residency at New York Hospital, and for about the last year I was in the South."

"Oh, were you working in the Katrina restoration neighborhoods?" asks Dr. Sundaresan.

"Um—no—"

"Working with Dr. Hardy at GE by chance? We were supposed to do testing for his pacemaker," puts in Dr. Jarrett.

"No," she says hesitantly. "I was a practicing GP in Alabama."

A hush falls around the table, as though no one can figure out what she's doing there. Zoe is wishing the floor would swallow her up when an older gentleman enters the room.

Dr. Jenkins gestures to him. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet Dr. Brian Zendek."

Zoe knows him by reputation as a brilliant surgeon, but his appearance doesn't quite match. His bow tie is slightly askew and his shirt wrinkled; his greying hair could use a trim.

"Hello all," he starts. "Looking forward to working with you. If you have any questions, I'm sure Tamara can answer them…and I'll see you all at rounds this afternoon."

He's gone as quickly as he came in.

After the meeting, there's a distribution of case files; Dr. Jenkins tells them that they'll each start with three of the simpler cases, and when they've demonstrated an understanding of those, can move on to more complex ones. "You have about an hour to study these, and I suggest you get some lunch as well. Rounds start at 1:00."

Zoe grabs a sandwich from the commissary and tries to find a secluded spot to memorize everything in her folders. She pulls out her phone for the first time all morning.

**Wade Kinsella** 11:13am

How's it going?

_Ugh._

**Wade Kinsella **11:57am

That good, huh?

She doesn't really want to talk about how amazing everyone in the group is, but she also doesn't want to lie to Wade. So she changes the subject.

_Don't you have an interview_?

**Wade Kinsella**

Yep—wish me luck!

_Good luck..see you tonight._

**Wade Kinsella**

K.

Love you

_Love you too._

It's during afternoon rounds that the disaster happens. They've gone from room to room, discussing each case, with the assigned Fellow making treatment recommendations. They come to the first of Zoe's patients, a 57-year-old man with a chronic arterial occlusion and Type II diabetes. Zoe gives a quick summary of the case, and Dr. Jenkins asks her what she would prescribe.

Zoe read about a case very similar to this one just yesterday, in a journal from last year, and begins speaking confidently.

Dr. Jenkins interrupts her. "Dr. Hart, that would be a great course to follow if this were 2010. Haven't you read Sutter et al on percutaneous coronary intervention, from the October issue of _Circulation_?" She turns to the group and explains. "They found that Dr. Hart's treatment plan caused class II to III anginas in 30% of cases, and recommended revascularization instead."

Zoe's face burns. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches The Twins trading a look of barely-supressed triumph, and Dr. Shankar and Dr. Scott both shrug, as if to say, "What would you expect?" As they shuffle out of the room, Dr. Sundaresan squeezes her elbow in sympathy. It doesn't help.

The group moves on, and Zoe acquits herself creditably on her other cases, but the sting of embarrassment lingers. After rounds, she escapes down to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee, and is morosely going through her files yet again when a man approaches her.

"Dr. Hart?"

She looks up; he's handsome, sandy-haired with a short beard, and probably about her age, although his boyish expression makes him seem younger. "I'm Jonah Breeland," he says.

It's so out of context, and her brain is still wrapped up in her earlier failure, that the name doesn't mean anything at first. He waits, hands in the pockets of his lab coat, then offers, "I'm…Lemon's cousin?"

_Breeland!_ It finally hits her. "Right! Jonah! Lemon told me she had a cousin who was a doctor in New York."

"Oh, good—I'd hate for you to think I was stalking you."

"I thought Lemon said you were at Mt. Sinai? Sorry—do you want to sit down?" she asks, belatedly.

"Sure." He pulls out a chair.

"Can I get you some horrible coffee?"

"It's not the Butter Stick, is it?" he smiles. "Maybelline's lattes—" they both sigh at the same time.

An unexpected rush of warmth pinks her cheeks at the memory—and the opportunity to share it. She and Wade haven't talked too much about Bluebell the past several days…truth be told, they haven't talked much at all, she's been so obsessed with getting ready for today.

_Not obsessed enough, apparently._

She shakes away the thought. "So, Sinai?"

Jonah leans back. "Yeah, I was finishing up a program there when I last talked to Lemon. Now I'm doing an orthopedic rotation here."

"Oh, cool. Is that what you want to go into?"

"Thinkin' about it. How about you? Lemon just said you were doing 'some heart stuff.'" They laugh. "For a doctor's daughter, Lemon isn't very medically literate."

"That may be true, but she has an innate understanding of the complicated world of the Bluebell charity leagues and who's not talking to whom." She traces a finger on the top file folder. "To answer your question, I'm doing cardio-thoracic. Six-month fellowship."

"Who's your attending?"

"Tamara Jenkins."

"Oh, man—" he makes a face. "I hear she's a ball-buster." Zoe raises an eyebrow. "I have a friend in your group from Duke Med—Priya Sundaresan?"

"Oh, yeah. She's actually the one person who seemed pretty nice. Well, her and Alvin Chang."

"The boy wonder? Priya told me about him. He's, like, 17. Chinese Doogie Howser."

"He is not!" Zoe laughs, but feels a bit guilty. Alvin hasn't done anything to deserve her ridicule—it just feels so good to laugh about something…anything.

Luckily, Jonah shifts subjects. "So, things sure have changed in Bluebell since I was there last…Lemon and George breaking up, Lemon and Lavon getting together, Wade Kinsella settling down…You got any comment on that, Dr. Hart?" he grins across at her.

"Nope," she responds. She's hardly likely to share the details of the roller-coaster ride of her first few months in Bluebell with a total stranger, even (especially) if he is a Breeland.

Jonah's phone beeps and he looks at the screen. "Saved by the bell, I guess—I gotta go. Have a consult at 4:30." He stands by the table, a little awkwardly. "Glad we ran into each other."

"Yeah, me too," Zoe says, and means it. Jonah managed to distract her from a horrible afternoon, and she's grateful. "Hey—we should take a photo! I'll send it to Lavon."

"Not to my dear cousin?" Jonah asks, an amused glint in his eyes that suggests he is well-acquainted with the Zoe-Lemon backstory.

"Shut up and smile," Zoe says, and holds the phone out in front of her to capture their grinning faces.

"Can you send it to me?" Jonah asks.

"Sure." She hands him her phone. "Put your number in and I'll text it to you."

That done, Jonah leans in to give her a hug, then seems to recollect where they are and offers her a professional handshake instead. "Don't let the assholes get you down," he says, so only she can hear.

* * *

Zoe is on her way out when Dr. Jenkins stops her. "Dr. Hart, a word?" she says, and gestures to her office.

As soon as the door is closed, Zoe says, "I know it wasn't professional of me to be unprepared today. It won't happen again."

Dr. Jenkins looks at her in silence for a long moment, which is a thousand times more unnerving than if she yelled or ranted. "I know I don't need to explain to you that the purpose of this fellowship is to show that you can be trusted to independently make decisions in the best interest of your patient, which requires that you be conversant with the most-current techniques. I realize your path in the last year has been a little—unconventional—but you were recommended highly, and we felt you could catch up easily enough." Zoe nods in acknowledgement and feels her cheeks flush with shame, again. "However, you are also here to learn, and fortunately, your mistake today came without a cost. But if it becomes a habit…well, just keep in mind that there were many very qualified people who wanted this opportunity."

_And we won't hesitate to give one of them a chance_, is the unspoken subtext.

Zoe scans Dr. Jenkins' face for a hint of sympathy or softness, but there is none. Seems Jonah's assessment was spot-on.

"I completely understand," Zoe chokes out. "I've been wanting this since I was nine, Dr. Jenkins. I'm not about to let it slip from my fingers."

The supervisor smiles thinly. "Good to hear. I'm sure we won't have any other issues, then."

And with that, Zoe is dismissed. It doesn't even surprise her to find the weather outside as icy as the look in Dr. Jenkins' eyes, as she picks her way through slush and salt to the train.

* * *

Given her mood, the laughter that greets her when she opens the apartment door feels like a slap in the face. She walks into the kitchen to find Wade and Gigi seated on barstools, while her mother stands behind the kitchen counter. There are several drinks on the counter in various shades of red.

"Hi honey!" Candice says brightly. "How was your first day?"

"Great," she replies flatly, avoiding Wade's questioning look. She picks up the nearest glass and downs it in one, only to splutter at the initial burn and cloying sweetness afterward.

Wade takes the glass before she drops it. "Jeez, babe, where's the fire?"

She can barely speak. "What was that?"

"It's a Goodnight Kiss. Wade made it, especially for me…well, especially for the Match dot com party on Friday," Gigi amends.

"It's not meant to be inhaled," Wade teases gently. "If you're in that much of a hurry, I'd recommend tequila."

"No, I'm fine. It's just…it's freezing outside and the subway sucks."

"Oh, sweetie," Candice says, full of sympathy. "I was going to send Javy to pick you up, but I didn't know when you were leaving."

Everyone's concerned glances weigh her down, and for a minute, she feels like stamping her foot and screaming. "I'll just go change," she says instead. When she gets back to her room, she does not slam the door, but shuts it very deliberately and takes her frustration out on her bag, which she hurls at the bed hard enough so that it spills papers everywhere.

As she goes to the closet to grab some sweats, her eye catches the piles of journals next to the bed. It's still nagging at her, how she could've missed that article. She pulls the relevant issue out of one stack; there is a post-it stuck on a middle page, indicating where she stopped reading. She flips to the page and remembers vividly Wade leaning down to kiss her, insisting she come out with him and Javy.

_It's not his fault_.

She knows that's true, but a traitorous feeling of resentment unfurls in her chest, just as the door opens behind her and Wade's hands land on her shoulders.

Zoe closes her eyes—_it's not his fault_—and tosses the journal on the bed.

"Hurricane come through?" He indicates the maelstrom of papers littering the comforter and floor.

She takes a deep breath. "No. Just—long day."

"I guess. I haven't seen you pound a drink like that since the boxed wine on the side of the road."

Wade moves her hair off her neck and starts rubbing little circles there with his thumbs…and the same thing that got her through the night last night now feels like shards of glass scraping her raw ego. She's afraid she's going to snap.

She shrugs off Wade's hands. "You shouldn't leave Gigi out there with my mother. No telling what schemes they'll think up."

"O…K. I got some of that Pinot you like, to celebrate your first day. Want me to pour you a glass?"

Forcing the corners of her lips into a smile, she replies, "That sounds great. I'll be right out."

She knows that Wade isn't fooled for a second.

She drinks some wine, eats some takeout from her favorite Thai place, and shakes off her mood enough to crack jokes about days long past with her mom and Gigi. She tells them about the twins, and arrogant Dr. Scott, and all the while, Wade watches her quietly. They toast the new drinks Wade's made, and Alvin Chang and Priya, and then Zoe raises her glass one more time, only to clap a hand over her mouth. "I almost forgot!" Whipping out her phone, she sends a quick text while the others look on, confused. "Oh," she tells them, when she's done. "I ran into Jonah Breeland today."

"Breeland?" echoes Candice, while Wade frowns.

"Lemon's cousin—Brick's nephew," Zoe explains. Gigi nods—she's heard about Lemon. "He's doing an ortho rotation at New York Pres."

"Great," mutters Wade.

Zoe defends Jonah. "He seemed perfectly nice."

"Yeah, I bet he did. Look, he's Lemon's favorite cousin—enough said."

"Hmm—I'm sensing a story…c'mon, Wade, give it up," wheedles Gigi.

"Well…Jonah's always been a little too big for his britches. So once when we were twelve, George and I convinced him to go skinny-dippin' by the pier…we stole his clothes and left him one of Lemon's dresses." Wade grins at the memory of Jonah trying to sneak back to the Breeland estate in a pink ruffled number far too short for his long legs.

"Ooh!" Zoe exclaims amongst the general laughter, having drunk enough to appreciate the ingenuity of such a prank. "Maybe I should try that in the scrub room with the Twins…only I'll leave them something from Filene's!" She and Gigi fall over each other laughing.

Wade salutes her with his beer. "That's my girl." His eyes twinkle into hers, and for a moment it's like today never happened…but by the time Gigi's gone, and they are heading to bed, her buzz has worn off. She sees the journal on the bed and grows still and cold again.

They get under the covers, and she doesn't curl up to him like she normally would. Into the darkness, Wade says, "I got a job today."

"I know—Gigi told me she hired you for two more parties. That's great."

"No—I mean, besides the parties."

The memory hits her—his interview—and she feels, if possible, even worse. This man turned his whole life upside down so she could chase a dream…and she can't even remember to ask about his day.

"That new place on 57th? You got it?"

"Yep, I start tomorrow. I'm doin' mostly day shifts so I can still work for Gigi—the pay's way better."

Propping herself on one elbow, she puts a hand on his chest. "Congratulations. I'm really proud of you."

"It's just pourin' drinks, Doc. It's not savin' lives."

"Don't," she says, finding herself, again, close to tears. "Just don't." She kisses him, hard, on the mouth and then rolls over.

He says nothing, only puts a comforting hand on her hip.

The tears slip silently down to her pillow, and guilt only adds to the shame that's overwhelming her—not only over her performance today, but also her instinctive reaction when she saw the journal.

_It's not his fault_.

Wade deserves better. So. Much. Better.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**A/N2: As you can see, Zoe and Wade have some stuff to work through...hope you'll stick with me while they do! :)**


	6. Vagabond Shoes

**Chapter Six: Vagabond Shoes**

In the next month, Wade falls into something of a routine. He spends his days tending bar at The Three Monkeys, working out with Trey, or playing squash with Javy, who is in surprisingly good shape for a sixty-year-old man. He's started cooking dinner occasionally, realizing that Candice almost never uses her own kitchen and feeling like it's the least he can do to contribute to the household, even if nobody's actually home to eat it. (He does wonder, periodically, where Candice is nearly every evening. Surely she can't have that many events?)

A few nights a week, he works parties for Gigi, often with Trey. She calls the two of them "her guys." Wade enjoys living vicariously through the younger man's varied social life. Once, he agreed to serve as Trey's wingman at a club where the bass thumped so loudly he could feel it in his chest, and the "laser show" was surely designed to fry the retinas of everyone on the dance floor. At 11:00, just as "everything was getting started," according to Trey, Wade begged off with a pounding headache. After that, he's watched Trey's shenanigans from afar, realizing that thirty is not, in fact, the new twenty-three.

All in all, it's not a bad life. Of course, he misses fishing, his car, and walking around unencumbered by ten layers of clothes, but he has more money in his pocket (and in the bank) than he's ever had before, he's made some new friends, he's figured out the subway system and the proper response to a honking cabbie.

The one thing he _hasn't _been doing?

Spending time with Zoe.

She's working almost nonstop; at first, he waited up for her every evening that he was home, sometimes with a plate of dinner, which grew cold while he fell asleep on the couch. After a few days, he realized he was only making her feel more guilty, so now he puts the dinner in the fridge and takes himself off to bed at a reasonable hour…and waits to feel the warmth of her, climbing in beside him, in the wee hours.

Zoe came down to The Three Monkeys the first week he was working there, met his boss and Carrie, the other bartender, a fiftysomething woman with a coronet of black braids who's like a whirling dervish when it gets crowded—but never spills a drop. Zoe's met Trey a few times too, and seems thrilled that he's spending time with Javy, who she clearly regards as (yet another) father figure. Every couple of days, he finds a little something she's left on the pillow for him: a funny teddy bear whose t-shirt says "I miss you bear-y much"; a six-pack of his favorite IPA, based in Montgomery, that she must have ordered online; a beautiful gray cashmere scarf that actually helps hold the heat in, in spite of the near-endless freezing rain.

It's not as though they _never_ see each other; there are mornings and, sometimes, evenings, and a Sunday or two when she's not on call. But even when she's there, she's not, really, having lost what he thinks of as her essential "Zoeness." Gone are the spark and sass of the woman he knew in Bluebell, the one confident in her knowledge and opinions and not afraid to shove them in your face, even if she turned out to be wrong. Now she seems to second-guess herself at every turn, and not just at work, either—with her mother, her friends, even with him.

The worst part is, he doesn't even know what's wrong. She won't _talk_ to him, not the way she used to, when they shared everything with each other. If he tries to bring up the gulf between them, she suddenly has an appointment, or she changes the subject, or—and this last one took him awhile to figure out, he's ashamed to say—she seduces him.

In the normal course of things, he wouldn't be complaining about that. There was one particularly memorable evening when they'd actually sat down to dinner together and he determined to get to the bottom of what was causing her eyes to lose their sparkle. Quickly dispatching the dishes, he came back to their room to find her wearing a few scraps of black sheer lace and nothing else. He averted his eyes, counted to fifty, and tried everything else he could think of to keep the conversation on track, but when she asked, low and sultry, "Is this _really_ what you want to be talking about right now?", damn if his libido didn't overrule his brain again.

It isn't just the sex itself, though—it's that he can still find her in those moments. The part of her she's been shutting off opens, just a little, and in amongst the giving and the taking and the sighs and the pleasure is the Zoe he fell in love with. She is _present_, complete, solid in his arms…not a wispy facsimile that constantly seems to be getting farther and farther away.

But it's a poor substitute for what they had. And he knows it can't last.

* * *

Wade hasn't come back to the hospital since Zoe's first day. Not because he didn't want to, but because he was waiting to be invited. Back in Bluebell, he thought nothing about popping into the practice once or twice a day, but "stopping by" the imposing building on 168th Street is another kettle of fish entirely.

As Zoe grows more distant, though, Wade realizes he's going to have to step up and step _out_ of his comfort zone if he wants things to improve. So he takes the subway uptown, buys a bouquet from one of the street sellers, and heads through the massive revolving door. He makes it up to the cardiology department, but then is stymied—he has no idea where to find her.

"Wade?" says a voice behind him. Jonah Breeland. Just the person he was hoping _not_ to see.

Jonah doesn't seem to feel the same way, heartily slapping him on the back. "Wade Kinsella, in the big city! Never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm full o' surprises," Wade replies laconically.

Jonah gestures at the flowers. "So I gather you're looking for Zoe?" He looks at his phone. "I think she said she had an 11:00 stent implantation, so she should be done by now…let's check the staff room."

It's not lost on Wade, as Jonah leads him to a door and scans his keycard, that the other man knows Zoe's schedule far better than he does.

The staff lounge is a pretty nondescript place, nothing like the opulent lobby or comfortable patient waiting areas he's seen so far. A few plain couches, a table and chairs, a coffee stand and vending machine.

A young Indian woman sits at the table, picking at a limp-looking salad and reading a magazine. "Priya!" Jonah greets her. "Have you seen Zoe? I thought she would be done with her 11:00 by now."

Priya doesn't bother to make eye contact with him. "Complications. Patient's BP dropped and they had to infuse him. Probably be another hour."

"Damn," says Wade, at which point Priya looks up. "Are you—" she starts.

"This is Wade—" Jonah steps in.

"—Zoe's boyfriend?" she finishes. Her face warms with a smile, and she rises from her chair to shake his hand. "I've heard so much about you!"

It's silly, but Wade feels his spirits lift at the thought that Zoe has talked about him to _someone_.

"Probably none of it good—am I right, dude? Southern boys FTW!" Jonah jokes, putting his fist out to be bumped, which Wade leaves hanging.

Punching him in the face is probably not the best way to ingratiate himself with Zoe's co-workers, so Wade focuses his attention on Priya. "You said she won't be done until 1:00?"

She nods. "And then we have rounds til three."

"I've got a gig to get to." It's his day off at the bar, but he's working a happy hour event for Gigi and has to set up.

"What a bummer," Jonah says, tone belying his words. He reaches to take the flowers from Wade. "I can make sure she gets these."

Priya rolls her eyes. "What, you're just going to waltz into the women's scrub room and put them by her locker? I'll take them—I think there's even a vase in the supply closet." Wade surrenders the flowers gratefully.

"Nice meeting you, Wade—tell Zoe we need to go out sometime," she says.

"Sounds like fun."

"I'll show you out," Jonah offers. _Super_.

On their way down the elevator, Jonah turns to him. "So, Zoe told me she's wanted to do cardio-thoracic surgery since she was nine."

Wade nods. "She likes to plan ahead."

"Y'know…this is a really prestigious fellowship. They work 'em incredibly hard, but once you get through, you pretty much have your pick of hospitals."

Wade is reminded of the conversation he had with Candice on his first night here, which does not score any points for Jonah. Keeping his voice even, he says, "Yeah, well, that's the idea—for Zoe to have as many choices as she can." Hopefully, those choices will include a life with him.

Jonah scratches behind one ear, a little awkward. "It's just—I know she's working crazy hours…I hope it doesn't create any…issues for you two." His sincerity is definitely in question, and Wade has a sudden satisfying vision of shoving Jonah up against the elevator wall and telling him to leave Zoe the hell alone…but he has no doubt this would get back to Zoe, who might not be thrilled at his he-man tactics.

Instead, hanging onto his self-control by the tips of his fingers, he drawls carelessly, "I thank ye for your concern, Jonah, but Zoe and I make a pretty good team. We'll figure it out."

He only prays he's right.

* * *

"Wade! What the hell? What did those glasses ever do to you?" Gigi demands, clicking off her headset.

"Sorry," he mutters, still incensed over the scene with Jonah in the elevator. He has _got_ to calm down, or he's going to owe Gigi for several hundred dollars' worth of custom-engraved martini glasses.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, opening them to find that Gigi has put her omnipresent clipboard down and is covering his clenched hand with hers.

"Hey," she says softly. "What's going on?"

He doesn't mean to—he knows he shouldn't—but her eyes are sympathetic and it's the first time in days it seems like someone cares…and the whole story comes pouring out: Zoe's work schedule, her distraction at home, the fiasco of his hospital visit.

"Maybe this was all a mistake," he finishes. "Maybe I should've put my foot down—made her choose: me and Bluebell, or the fellowship."

"You would never have done that," Gigi says, squeezing his arm.

Wade runs a hand through his hair. "No. I wouldn't. But I coulda stayed down there, where I belong, 'steada comin' all the way up here just to be shut out."

"I, for one, am glad you didn't." She smiles up at him. "You're the most reliable bartender I've ever had. But, sweetie, you have to understand—this is _who Zoe is_. I've known her since the sixth grade, and when she has a goal, nothing else really matters."

He wants to deny it, to say she wasn't like that, not down in Bluebell…but then he remembers how singlemindedly she went after patients there, how determined she was to keep Harley's practice when she could've cut bait and sold it to Brick. Enough to get bitten by a snake, to chase a ghost, to cheat at a gumbo contest…and enough to reject all his advances until she felt secure.

There's no doubt she can be a great surgeon. The question is, will there be any room left for him, once she gets there?

Gigi gets a call and checks the number on her phone. "Ugh. I gotta take this. But remember—you're a great guy, Wade. Talented in your own way. If Zoe can't appreciate that, then…" she shrugs, looking back at him over her shoulder as she walks away.

* * *

He gets home pretty early from the happy hour thing, and walks into an empty apartment. Zoe's on call tonight, so she sleeps at the hospital, and Candice has her book club, he thinks. That's fine with him—all he wants to do, after this crappy day, is to get in bed as soon as possible, and hope for better things tomorrow.

He comes out of the shower and grabs a t-shirt from his drawer. It's his last clean one—maybe he'll throw in some laundry before he hits the hay…but then his eyes catch on a little red box in the back corner.

His mother's ring. It's almost hard to remember, though it was only weeks ago, the optimism he felt when Earl gave it to him. At the time, he was sure he and Zoe had what it took to be forever. He didn't know when, exactly, it would be right, but when your whole lives are ahead of you, what's the rush?

Now? Now, he doesn't know anything.

That's not true, actually. He knows two things: he loves Zoe Hart. And he's sure as hell not done fighting for her.

* * *

Trey gets tickets to a Knicks game and invites Wade to come along. Wade's never been to an NBA game, never been inside Madison Square Garden (The Garden to the locals), and he readily agrees. "It's a 7:00 game, and I have a 5:00 audition in Midtown anyway. If you meet me at the audition, we can head over to the game after," Trey says.

"Sure," Wade shrugs.

Trey's audition is at an advertising firm on Seventh. When Wade gets there, the space around the conference room where auditions are being held is crammed with twenty-something men all dressed in some variant of work shirt, jeans, and boots. Wade looks down at his similar outfit—it reminds him of the Little Big Town party, people "dressing up" in a costume lifted from his daily life. (_My old life,_ he thinks.)

Given the crowd, it's not surprising that the auditions are running behind, and since Trey has one of the last slots, Wade has plenty of time to take in the atmosphere. It's friendlier than he expected, lots of guys clearly knowing each other well from years of being on what Trey calls "the circuit." There are backslaps and wishes of good luck as each man goes into the conference room.

Finally, the throng peters out and it's just Wade, Trey, and one other man, a short but built guy named Steve whose Jersey accent is obvious, even to such a relative newbie as Wade. A woman with a clipboard comes out of the conference room and approaches Wade. "Headshot?" she demands.

"Uh—no," he says. "You want him—" pointing to Trey—"not me."

The woman looks him up and down. "We'll see about that."

"Sorry, Ally, he's taken," Trey breaks in with a smile. "But here's mine." He hands her his comp card and follows her into the conference room.

A few seconds later, a man sticks his head out of the door, scans the room, and then disappears again. Trey comes out not long after that, and Wade stands up. "Ready to blow this popsicle stand?" he asks as Steve gives Trey a fist bump and heads to take his turn.

Wade and Trey are walking out to the reception area when Ally comes after them. "Trey!" she calls, and they turn around.

"Hey—did I leave something behind?" Trey checks his pockets.

"No—"

"They want me for a second round already?"

Ally looks up at him apologetically. "No—sorry, Trey. They want to meet your friend."

"What? Me?" Wade asks incredulously.

Trey shakes his head at him. "I've been tellin' you to call Margot, man." He turns to Ally. "It's the scruff, isn't it?"

"It's kinda—" Ally waves her hand around Wade's face—"the whole thing, actually."

_What is wrong with these people?_ "Yeah…I don't think so—" Wade starts to say.

Trey interrupts him. "No way. Margot'd kill me if I let you turn this down—just go in there. What's the harm?"

"Besides that I got no earthly idea what's goin' on?"

"I think that's part of the appeal," Ally confides. "The words 'fresh face' were mentioned."

Wade looks from one to the other. "You're both out of your minds."

"Just go," urges Trey. "Two minutes—we'll still get to the game in time for tip-off."

"Fine." He's not sure where the word comes from, but suddenly he's being bundled into the conference room.

There are some white screens set up with lights on big poles, and an impressive-looking camera on a tripod. In front of these is a small table. Three people sit on one side of it, with a single empty chair across from them. Ally indicates he should take the chair.

"Name?" a woman sitting at the table asks him.

"Wade Kinsella." He squints against the glare of the stupid lights shining right in his face.

The woman nods, writing it down, and leans over to a man sitting next to her. "I like the—" she pats her cheeks—"and the—" She waves her hand over her head.

Wade has no idea what she's talking about, but the man says, "Right? We've been waiting for this all day."

The woman turns back to him. "Who's repping you?"

"Uh—" oh, _representing_, he realizes. "Margot—"

"Margot Bissell," the man says approvingly.

Wade tries to picture the name on the business card she gave him weeks ago…the one he had thrown in a drawer when he got home that night. "Sure—I mean, yes. Same as Trey."

"OK. Let's get some test shots. Shauna?"

The third person at the table—a woman no taller than Zoe, a shock of bright purple hair standing up from her head and tortoiseshell glasses huge in her small face—gets up and motions for Wade to stand in front of the screens.

He does, trying not to feel like the prize bull at the fair, and follows her instructions to turn this way, and that way, and "look smoldering" (whatever the hell _that_ means—he just thinks of Zoe and hopes for the best).

All at once, Shauna is done, and the first woman is telling him they'll call Margot after they show "the client" (who's the client? he didn't even ask), but that he should be optimistic. "We think you'll be perfect."

In a daze, Wade goes back out into the reception area, where Trey is waiting.

"You OK, man?"

"I think I might've just gotten a job," Wade replies.

Trey pounds his shoulder. "This is great! Margot'll give me a bonus for 'referring' you. It's a win-win!"

"Uh…wouldn't it have been better if you just got the job yourself?"

"Oh, I had no chance," Trey asserts confidently. "Did you _see_ some of those guys?"

"What're they lookin' to advertise, anyway?"

"They didn't tell you?" Wade shakes his head. "It's a cologne. Called Rustic."

"Jesus."

* * *

By the time Margot calls him the next day, Wade's come back to his senses and is ready to tell her that he's very sorry, he doesn't know what came over him, but he can't possibly put his face on a perfume bottle.

He never gets the chance.

"Well, my instincts have been proven right again," she says, when he answers the call.

"Margot—"

"You'll have to come in and sign a contract with the agency—preferably today. I did my best to negotiate for you, but I couldn't get much more than industry minimum, since you're an unknown…of course, I told them that if they let you walk, I have three other clients waiting to snap you up—"

"You do?"

"I _could_."

"Listen, Margot, I appreciate it and I'm sorry you went to so much trouble—"

She talks on, right over him; the woman is like a force of nature. "So I could only get you $300 an hour for the shoots, a bit more than that for promotional appearances, and a small percentage in residuals. But if it goes well—"

Margot continues, but Wade is too stunned to hear. Three hundred dollars _an hour_? For standing there and slapping whatever expression on his face that they ask him to? It's insane. (And far more than what Zoe is making in her fellowship, which seems almost criminal.)

But then he thinks about what that kind of money might mean, for him, and for Zoe, especially if (_when_) they get back to Bluebell. If he turns this down, he doubts he'll get another chance. It's like the golden ring on the old carousel down in Mobile, when he was a kid—you had to be ready to grab it with both hands, or the guy on the horse behind you would snatch it away. If he really wants to fight for their future, as unlikely as it seems, this might be a place to begin.

"When do I start?" he asks.

* * *

He has to take two days off from the bar to do the shoot. Fortunately, Carrie is a champ, and is willing to cover for him last-minute. Margot tells him the client is under the gun to get promotional materials out in time for a big launch party, and they changed their concept at the eleventh hour, so everything needs to be done _yesterday_ (which, apparently, in advertising parlance, means _tomorrow_).

She sends him to a studio out in Jersey, where a cavernous soundstage has been transformed into a semi-forested wonderland including a stream, a tiny meadow, and a dock. A tech person tells him it's much cheaper to do it this way then to shoot on location, although Wade can't see how that's possible; he could head out the back door of the gatehouse and have all this right at his feet, for free!

He spends an hour in hair and makeup and comes out looking, to his eyes, slightly orange, but otherwise exactly the same. Then the costume person picks out clothes for him that are suitably "countrified": basically, a few different shirts to pair with a few different jeans.

Shauna is there—nice to see a sort-of familiar face—and takes about a million shots, of Wade holding an axe, pretending to fish, leaning on a fence, even chewing a piece of straw (seriously? he's never done that in his life)…and, his favorite, just "looking manfully" into the camera.

It's surprisingly exhausting, and suddenly $300 an hour doesn't seem so ridiculous. Nonetheless, the thought of how much he's making keeps his spirits up, and he finishes the shoot in fairly good humor. At the end of the second day, they tell him they'll send copies of the proofs over to Margot, and send him on his way.

He says nothing to Zoe, wanting to surprise her when the check comes in, and also believing, in the back of his mind, that the whole campaign will likely come to nothing. Even if it does though, he'll still have made a few thousand bucks in two days, and that's nothing to sneeze at.

* * *

Later that week, Zoe makes good on her scheme to improve Javy's love life, and they go on a double-date with him and Carmen, one of her friends from work. Carmen's snapping black eyes and generous smile are definitely reminiscent of the pictures Wade's seen of Rosa, and he's not surprised that Zoe's chosen her.

They're meeting at a restaurant near the hospital, so Wade and Javy drive up there together. On the way, Javy turns to him. "It's really sweet of Zoe to do this, but not necessary."

Wade grins at him. "You know how she is when she gets an idea into her head."

"Yes, I do," Javy nods. "You know, once, when she was thirteen, she decided that her history teacher would be a perfect match for Candice? She purposely failed a test so they would have to have a parent-teacher conference."

"Don't tell me—Candice reamed the guy for failing her daughter."

"Not at all—they got along famously. They were both smart enough to figure out what happened, and Candice liked him so much she invited him—and his boyfriend—to come to dinner. Was a bit of a shock for Zoe, but she got over it."

Wade chuckles. "Oh, jeez…poor kid." After a moment, he asks Javy, "Didn't Candice ever date, after Ethan left? Long time for her to stay single."

Javy shifts in his seat. "Sure, she did. Some of the most eligible guys in the city. But nothing serious; she had her career, and Zoe, and that seemed to be enough."

Wade privately thinks that a little romance might be good for Candice…soften her edges, and keep her from being _too_ focused on Zoe…but it's none of his business, of course.

The four of them end up having a really nice dinner. Carmen has a wry sense of humor, and some great stories about growing up in the Bronx; it turns out that her older brother and Javy's younger one played each other in some "Five Boroughs" basketball tournament in the 80s. She's friendly and warm, and Wade is glad that Zoe has such an ally in her department, since it sounds like her fellowship group is pretty dog-eat-dog.

At the end of the evening, Javy and Carmen trade numbers, pledging to go to a salsa dance class they've both been wanting to try down in SoHo. Zoe, who's had a few glasses of wine, demands of Javy as they drive back to the apartment, "How long are you going to wait to call her?"

"Aw, Doc, give the man a break," Wade urges from the backseat.

"It's OK." Javy grins at Zoe. "What's the rule now? Three days—isn't that what they said in that 'Swingers' movie?"

"Javy, that movie is, like, fifteen years old."

"I'm an old-fashioned guy, Zoe—stuck in the 20th century."

Zoe rolls her eyes and turns around to smile at Wade. He hasn't seen her this…bouncy…in a long time, and it's like coming to an oasis in the desert. He drinks in her happy face and bright eyes, and leans back in his seat contentedly.

Javy drops them off, and Zoe is still laughing at something he's said when they get in the elevator. "Did you have a good time?" she asks him, snuggling into his chest.

"Not as good a time as _you_, Miss Pinot Grigio."

"Shut up. I'm not drunk…it was just nice to see two people I really like having a good time."

"Yeah," he agrees, kissing the top of her head. "Just…maybe don't get your hopes up too high."

She pushes herself back from his chest as the elevator stops at their floor. "What d'you mean? Did Javy say something?"

"No," he replies. "I just…didn't see a lot of sparks between them."

Zoe waves this off as she attempts to get the key in the lock. Wade takes it from her and opens the door. "What do you know about chemistry, anyway?"

"I know we got it," he says, low, and catches her in the doorway to kiss her, very thoroughly.

"Did you have a good time?" inquires Candice from the couch.

Wade drops his hands from Zoe's waist and straightens up, quickly. "Evenin', Candice."

Zoe only giggles and says, "Yeah, we did. Wade thinks there weren't any 'sparks'"—she uses air quotes—"but he's wrong."

An expression crosses Candice's face that Wade can't exactly identify. "Oh, really? Do tell."

Her voice has what could be a dangerous edge to it, and Wade tries to cut the conversation off—for starters, he doesn't think Zoe should be dishing to her friend's boss about his social life. "We should get you to bed, babe." He takes her hand to pull her back to their room.

But Zoe, undeterred, pulls away from him. "Javy and Carmen have a ton in common. Did you know Javy's brother played in the Five Borough Champs in the 80s?"

"Ricky or Pedro?" Candice asks.

"Ricky."

"Well, that's fascinating," she replies dryly.

"_And_ they laughed a lot." Candice just raises her eyebrows, and Zoe says in a huff, "You weren't there. You couldn't see how they looked at each other."

_I was there_, Wade thinks, _and I couldn't see it either._

Candice stands up. "Well, I'm glad you all had fun. If you'll excuse me, it's past time for me to be in bed—long day tomorrow."

"OK. 'Night, Mom." Zoe presses a careless kiss to the older woman's cheek as she passes by them on the way to her room.

Wade guides Zoe the other direction—into the kitchen. "Let's get you some water, and maybe a Tylenol," he says, filling a glass. "You're gonna have a heck of head in the mornin', otherwise."

As she drinks her water, he weighs whether this is the right time to finally confront her about the distance between them. "I really liked Carmen," he starts, dipping a toe in.

"She's great. Just really down to earth, no B.S."

"I'm glad you have someone to talk to."

Zoe sets her glass down. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, when somethin's botherin' you, it's always good to have an ear to bend. And doesn't sound like the Twins or the hoity-toity brothers are good candidates."

"You're right about that…but who says something's bothering me? I'm fine."

Wade gazes at her, long enough that she breaks the contact and starts tracing circles on the counter with her finger. "Zoe, come on," he says, taking the plunge. "It's me, here. You're at the hospital twelve, sometimes fifteen hours a day, and half the time you're _not_ there, you've got your head in some research or files or whatever. Tonight was the first time I've seen you laugh, really _laugh_, in weeks."

She folds her arms. "It's a serious job, Wade. Life or death sometimes. It's not mixing margaritas for investment bankers."

That's a low blow, and she knows it—in fact, just recently, she came down on _him_ for saying something similar. For a minute, he's tempted to ask her, sarcastically, if Jonah Breeland understands her better.

Wade takes a deep breath, knowing that he can't afford to get sidetracked into an irrelevant (for the moment) argument, and suspecting that she's trying to do just that. Instead, he comes closer to her, resting his hand on her hip. "I know it is, Doc. And I know that the most stressful thing that happens to me in a day is running out of Patrón. But I wish you would talk to me when somethin's worryin' you, or when you've had a bad day. You always used to, back in Bluebell."

Caught off-balance, she just looks at him, the silence stretching and pulling, and he watches the wall she's carefully built up come crumbling down. One tear escapes and rolls down her cheek, and then another, and then she's leaning into him and sobbing. He puts his arms around her, tucking her into him, and just letting her dissolve. All the while, relief crashes over him, even as his heart cries with her.

Her sobs finally cease, and she says haltingly, "The thing is…before, I was always good at what I did. But here…everybody else is better. It doesn't matter that I graduated first in my class at Johns Hopkins or that Tom used to tell me I had the best hands he'd ever seen—they all have something like that, and more."

"Who says everyone else is better?" he asks, handing her a Kleenex.

She blows her nose. "Nobody has to say it. I just know it—they all know the techniques, the new equipment, the research... I feel like I'm racing just to catch up. And I made a mistake on my very first day, which is apparently the _only_ mistake I'm allowed."

"That's a lot to carry around, darlin'. You coulda told me." His thumb strokes her cheek.

"How could I tell you?" she turns away from him, folding in on herself. "You gave up everything so I could have this chance. How could I tell you I'm making a total hash of it?"

"Listen to me. You're Zoe Hart. You've never made a hash of anything in your life…well, 'cept maybe Emeril's gumbo. That was pretty bad."

He waits a beat, and when she turns back to him, there's a small smile playing around her mouth. He tips her chin up with one finger. "I love you, Zoe, and I believe in you. You can do anythin' you set your mind to, includin' kick the asses of those fancy-pants doctors." Her smile grows a little wider, and he gathers himself, posing the question that in some ways, scares the hell out of him. "I have to ask you, sweetheart…is bein' a surgeon…is it worth all this trouble?"

"I don't know," she says, honestly. "There's a lot of pressure, a lot of stress…but when I'm in the OR, or when I visit a patient after surgery and they're doing well…it's amazing. It just…fills me up. I can't explain it. I don't know if I'll want to do it forever, but I'm learning so much…I don't want to quit now."

Wade nods. He has to admit, if only to himself, that part of him was hoping they could be on the next plane back to Alabama, but at least he knows where she's at now. "Fair enough. I'm OK with your long hours, and with havin' to share our bed with a hundred copies of _Cardiology Today…_if you can just promise me one thing."

She nods, toying with the buttons on his shirt.

"Don't shut me out. We're a team, right? And that only works if we're both pullin' in the same direction."

"I'm sorry," she whispers, tears threatening again. "I'll try, OK?"

"OK." Leaning down, he kisses her lingeringly, loving the feeling of her arms tightening around him, one hand sliding into his hair as she opens her mouth under his. "I love you, Wade Kinsella," she breathes in his ear, opening his shirt and pressing her lips to the hollow of his throat. He tips his head back and groans, momentarily forgetting they're in the wide-open kitchen, with Candice just down the hall.

"Shhh…" she giggles, mouth following her fingers as she finishes unbuttoning his shirt.

"Doc—what are you—we can't—_damn_…"

She stops and looks up at him. "I have an idea."

"I hope to God it's the same idea I'm havin'," he gasps.

"Come here." She leads him into the small laundry room behind the kitchen, at the other end of the apartment from the bedrooms. As soon as the door is locked behind them, he presses her up against the wall, reveling in the knowledge that _this_ particular seduction isn't about avoidance or despair, but just a recommitment to each other. He can see it in the way she keeps her eyes on his, instead of closing herself away, and feel it in the laughter that bubbles up as he kisses his way down her neck.

He slips her blouse off her shoulders, and slides her skirt down over her hips, and when both are puddled on the floor with his jeans, he picks her up and sets her down on the only flat surface in the room—the washing machine. "Your mother isn't the type for a midnight snack, is she?" he asks.

"Not usually," Zoe sighs, hooking one leg behind his back. "But just in case…" Her eyes twinkle mischievously. "Maybe this will help." She turns around, presses a few buttons, and under cover of the _whoosh_ of the water and the rattle of the drum, they discover each other all over again.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**A/N: Wade and Zoe are finding their way back to each other, but we're not done yet...still some chapters to go. Would love to know what you think!**


	7. Melting Away, Part I

**A/N: Lots going on in this chapter—so much that I had to split it into two parts! Here's Part I...Part II will be up sometime in the next week. Thanks for your patience, and for continuing to review! **

**Chapter Seven: Melting Away**

**Part I**

Zoe wakes the next morning feeling lighter than she has in weeks. Nothing has changed as far as work is concerned, but coming clean to Wade about her fears and her worries, sharing the burden with him, has helped. She's been so used to handling everything herself, never having been very close with Candice and feeling like a constant disappointment to Ethan. She and Nate, her old boyfriend, commiserated with each other, but real support was always missing between them—when everything feels like a competition, no one wants to make themselves vulnerable.

With Wade, of course, it's different; he's not trying to one-up her, and he doesn't have any expectations of her. He _wants _her to come to him when she's upset or sad or scared. She remembers how it felt when he finally told her about Earl's drinking and his attempts to get sober, and she knows that same honesty is all he's asking from her.

_I'll try_, she thinks. _I really, really will_.

Wade stirs behind her, planting a line of kisses along her shoulder. She hums with pleasure and turns over to face him, running her fingers over his collarbone. "I've been thinking."

"Yeah?" he grins. "Anythin' like the thinkin' you was doin' last night? 'Cause that was epic."

"It's just sex, sex, sex with you, isn't it?" she complains, lips twitching.

"By my count, it was just sex, singular. Sounds like I owe you two more." He hooks her leg across his hip and starts to kiss her, but she stops his mouth with her hand.

"Will you listen? You said last night that you want me to let you in."

"Exactly," he leers. She pushes against his chest and he relents. "OK, Doc, I'll bite—or rather, I won't. Yet. What's your idea?"

"Well…there's this fundraiser for the hospital a week from Saturday. I wasn't planning to go, but maybe you could come with me? You could meet Alvin, and see Priya—Carmen will be there too—ooh! I should tell her to ask Javy…"

"Next Saturday? Isn't that—"

"Valentine's Day? I know. So if you had already planned something—"

"_If_ I had? Oh, now I'm insulted," he says with mock indignation, finding that tender spot in the crease of her neck. "The carriage is booked, the reservations made, I've got a line on a guy who can get me seventeen dozen roses—"

"Really?" she asks, distracted.

He props himself up on one elbow, eyes twinkling. "Doc, who d'you think you're talkin' to?"

"You're impossible." She arches up, just a little, as his fingers find the hem of her camisole. "So we _don't_ have plans?"

"Sure we do. We're goin' to your hospital party."

Her grin gets smothered as he slips her cami over her head, and the delicious feeling of his warm bare chest against hers is nearly the end of the conversation. She winds her arms around his neck. "Only thing is, it's black tie."

"I have a black tie."

"No, you need a—" she breaks off, realizing he's teasing her.

"This is just part of your master plan so you can see me in a monkey suit, ain't it?" he says, nibbling at her earlobe.

"You got me," she sighs.

"And don't you forget it."

* * *

Later that week, Zoe's phone rings just as she's about to leave the apartment. She doesn't check the screen—it's most likely Wade, who left early to work out with Trey, calling to tell her to have a good day. They've taken to these little rituals as one way to feel more connected, and it never fails to bring a smile to her face.

"Zoe Hart," she answers teasingly. The line crackles with static, and then a man's voice, sounding like it's at the other end of a tunnel: "Zoe?"

Not Wade, she realizes with a start. "Dad?"

She hasn't talked to Ethan since Christmas, when she called him to tell him about the fellowship. He's been in Germany for most of the last year, and with the time change and his schedule, she supposes he hasn't been able to call much. At least that's what she's told herself, every time she's left a message for him in the last weeks.

"How are you?" she asks him.

"Oh, same ol' stuff. Doing a lot of mitral valve repair and carotid endarterectomies. But listen, I'll tell you all about it when I get there."

"You're coming to New York?"

"Yeah—" he cuts out for a second—"come and see the fine work my—you're doing."

She shouldn't still need this man's validation, but the habits of a lifetime are hard to kick, and Zoe feels warmed by his assumption that she's doing a good job even if she has doubts about her performance. "When do you get here?"

"End of next week."

"Really? The hospital is having its annual fundraiser that weekend. Can I get you a ticket?"

"Already done, sweetie. Jenkins and Zendek have me at their table. Hope you won't mind coming in on the arm of your old man."

"Oh…actually, I'm bringing Wade. So I guess I'll have two dates."

"Right…the boyfriend. I forgot—" There's a pause, and Zoe thinks the call might have been dropped, but then Ethan says a little stiffly, "I look forward to meeting him."

"I'm sure he'll feel the same," she responds wryly.

They talk for another minute or so, and then Ethan hangs up. Zoe stares at the blank screen for far too long afterward, coming to her senses to realize she's going to have to run for her train. She makes it—barely—and is lucky enough to grab a seat, where she mulls over her instinctive reaction to hearing Ethan's voice: she is at attention, ready to be quizzed, wanting to put her best foot forward. She wonders sometimes, on really tough days, whether she's doing all this—exhausting herself, putting her relationship at risk—just to show him she can. To prove a point that she should be long past needing to prove. It will be good to see him next week, she thinks, because maybe she can put all this approval-craving to rest. Maybe she can move into the future on her own terms, making choices based on what's best for her, not what he thinks.

And maybe she can figure out what role, if any, she wants him to play in her life going forward.

That might be a lot to hang on one weekend.

* * *

She's in the lounge resting between procedures when she suddenly has an overwhelming longing for coffee with real cream and a buttermilk muffin. Pulling out her laptop, she begins to type.

_Hey Addy!_

_Sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you. Work has been really crazy, and by the time I get home at night, all I want to do is sleep!_

This is not strictly true. Or it is, but it's not the reason it's taken her over a week to respond to Addy's email. The truth is that while she was locked in her downward guilt/shame spiral, she couldn't imagine returning the kind of chipper, newsy missive that Addy had sent her. Zoe didn't think she could be honest and upbeat at the same time, so she put it off from day to day until Addy finally texted her:

**Addy Pickett** 3:12pm  
Girl, haven't heard from u. Still alive up there?

The thing is, she knows Addy would be supportive if she told her what's been going on…but it's awfully hard to admit that the rosy future you imagined is more fraught than you expected.

But today, she's feeling optimistic, and the response flows out of her. She tells Addy about meeting Alvin's parents, who've come to visit their son and who, while beaming with pride, made it clear they're expecting him to win a Nobel, or at least an American Surgical Association Medallion. It's a lot of pressure for a 24-year-old.

_Dr. Jenkins is still driving us hard, but I have to say I'm learning so much. Last week, I got to do a endobronchial stent. My dad (Ethan) helped pioneer the procedure, so it was exciting to get to do one myself._

_Speaking of my dad, he called me today to tell me he's coming to our hospital gala. I haven't seen him since I've been here, so that will be good, I guess._

_Remember that Luke Bryan song we always used to jam to at the practice? Wade was playing it on his guitar a couple of days ago and I totally thought of you. He's hardly had any time to play lately—he's been so busy between The Three Monkeys and working Gigi's parties that he hasn't been home much. Neither have I…which was starting to be a problem, but I think we're figuring it out. It's just so different here from Bluebell—our lives don't overlap the way they did there, so staying in sync takes a lot more effort. I know, I know…I can hear you in my head, saying, "He's worth it"—and you're right. :)_

_I was so glad to hear Tom and Wanda finally had their date! I know Frank kinda had a thing for her too, but Frank has a thing for every single woman in Bluebell! Tom and Wanda just seem to fit. I read in the Blawker (every morning, right after the front page of the _Times_) all about the whole Memory Matrons scandal. How could they not choose Lemon? I'm sure that Annabeth Nass is perfectly nice, but Lemon must've wanted that so badly…I never did like that Delia Ann. Always looked like she could use some prune juice, if you know what I mean._

_Please tell Mrs. Mayfair congratulations on her big news…she must be so excited! I should be back in Bluebell by the time she_

Zoe stops typing, considers for a moment, and deletes the last sentence. At this point, she has no idea where she'll be in six months, and she doesn't want to make empty promises.

_How are the boys? I hope Mason's ankle is better and he's back on the soccer field. It must've been hard on you when he was laid up—there's nothing worse than a kid with a ton of energy not able to run around! Tell Ray I'm really proud he came in first in the spelling bee, too._

_I'm glad you got some help around the office, even if it's just in the afternoons. Mrs. H's niece sounds fun—Bluebell must seem really quiet for her after living in Atlanta. I sure remember what that was like!_

_Ugh. Better go—staff meeting in ten minutes._

_Love to all,  
Zoe_

_P.S. You and Bill should take a break and come visit us—bring the boys for their spring vacation! Brick can hold down the fort for a few days, now that he has Rose to help…and I want to see my friend! :)_

* * *

Gigi's agreed to help her find a dress for the gala, so Zoe spends one of her rare afternoons off poking into little boutiques down in the West Village. She's looking for something stunning without being too overtly sexy; she wants Wade's eyes to pop, but not anyone else's.

Surprisingly, she has success fairly quickly, at a tiny, eclectic little place stuffed to bursting with everything from earmuffs to evening wear. The dress is a long column of silk, softly draped around her waist, and wrapping up over one collarbone. It's elegant, but it leaves her shoulders bare, which she knows will drive Wade just the right amount of crazy, especially when he sees the peekaboo slit—right up to mid-thigh—that will only be visible when she walks. She gets a little flushed herself, thinking about what she might wear underneath it…or not.

The best part? The gown is almost the exact shade of Wade's eyes—a glassy green, like sunlight filtered through water. It's perfect.

She has it wrapped up, and is ready for a midafternoon treat at Empire Cake or even an early cocktail at the Up & Up, but Gigi has other ideas. "Girl, I have the new iPhone launch—and what, am I supposed to wear a dress from _last year_?" (The horrors!) "We are not done!"

They walk into the next shop, where Gigi pounces on a purple shift, a white minidress, a long red number with a corset for the bodice, and a complicated-looking arrangement in black and grey that features several straps and buckles, but not much else. Realizing they're going to be there for awhile, Zoe finds a chair close to the dressing rooms and sinks into it.

Gigi dumps her bag on Zoe's lap, handing over her cell. "I'm waiting for, like, five calls. Can you answer for me?" She turns to a hovering saleswoman who clearly scents a fat commission. "Be a darling and get me a cappuccino, pronto!"

"I didn't go to medical school to be your secretary, Gigi!" Zoe calls after her as she disappears into the dressing room.

It's not entirely unpleasant, sitting there with the winter sunlight filtering through the window and paging through a _Harper's Bazaar_ while she sips on a latte the saleswoman has brought her. She hasn't done anything this frivolous in weeks, and she's just settling a little further down in her chair, tipping her head back and closing her eyes, when Gigi's phone blares out

_Yellow diamonds in the light  
__And we're standing side by side_

Zoe jumps, tipping her magazine and the phone off her lap, and when she picks the still-shrieking cell (_As your shadow crosses mine_) up off the floor, her heart stops.

The screen reads "Wade Kinsella," but that's not what causes her throat to go dry. It's the photo that comes up, attached to his name—of Gigi kissing him while he grins at the camera, her eyes blissfully closed, looking like she's about to stick her tongue in his ear.

What. The. Actual. Hell?

Zoe knows that Gigi and Wade have gotten pretty close; he works her parties a few nights a week, and she's come home once or twice to them concocting new drink recipes in the kitchen (at least, that's what she _thought_ they were doing)…but this goes too far. She doesn't answer the call, staring at the photo while the song plays on (_We found love in a hopeless place_) until Gigi yells, "Are you gonna get that?"

At the sound of Gigi's voice, Zoe sees red. She marches to the dressing room and yanks aside the curtain. Gigi stands there in the white minidress, vamping at the mirror. "What d'you think?" she asks.

"I think I'd like you to explain this." Zoe shoves the phone in her face, just as Rihanna's voice fades and the screen registers

**Wade Kinsella  
**Missed Call

Gigi rolls her eyes. "Duh! Your boyfriend _does_ work for me—he's probably calling about—"

"I'm not talking about the call, Gigi," Zoe bites out. "I'd like to know why there's a picture of you _kissing_ him."

Gigi tries to play it off with an air of unconcern, but there's something underneath that fills her stomach with dread. "It's nothing—" the blonde blusters. "We were screwing around—" Zoe's glare only gets more fierce—"I mean, it was just a stupid selfie we took at the Little Big Town party. I thought he sent it to you." Gigi shrugs and turns back to the mirror. "Now, unzip me so I can try on the purple one."

The saleswoman, no doubt alarmed at what the tone of this exchange might mean for her commission, steps between them. "Allow me," she says, and unzips the dress. Then she tries to drag the curtain closed again, but Zoe stops her, stepping inside the cubicle.

The room is tiny, and Zoe just stands there, a million thoughts racing through her head, primary among them the certainty—or the prayer—that Wade wouldn't…Then she remembers senior year of high school, and a boy named Andrew, quiet and bookish, who wore the most adorable (Zoe thought at the time) round glasses. Zoe pined after him in silence, brainstorming several different ways to get his attention, but Gigi walked right up and asked him to the Prom.

This is an entirely different situation, of course, but the ugly sense of betrayal she felt then is suddenly all too familiar.

Gigi steps out of the white dress and starts to pull on the purple shift. Her head gets stuck in the small neck opening. "Little help here?" she demands. The situation would probably be hilarious to an outside observer, but right now Zoe is not seeing the humor. She yanks the dress down, barely refraining from tearing the soft fabric, and Gigi's head and arms emerge.

A standoff ensues, Gigi folding her arms and Zoe staring her down. The nervous saleslady asks, her voice high-pitched from beyond the curtain, "Can I be of assistance?"

"No!" Zoe and Gigi reply simultaneously.

"Don't be stupid, Zoe. It's not like anything happened."

"You forget I've known you since you were twelve. I recognize the look on your face in that picture. I can't believe I didn't notice, all the times the three of us were together. You…_want_ him."

Gigi tosses her head back. "The _three_ of us haven't been together that much. You're always at the hospital—or doing your research—"

"Wait—so somehow it's _my_ fault that you're going after my boyfriend?"

"Oh my God. Can you really not see it? See how he feels ignored and set aside and small, when you're having special pow-wows with Jonah Breeland and—"

"Jonah?" Zoe interrupts, confused. Wade's never even mentioned Jonah, not since that first night. The rest of what Gigi said, however, strikes right at Zoe's heart—and she knows every word is true, that Wade _has_ felt that way.

"Yeah, Jonah. When Wade came all the way up to the hospital to bring you flowers, Jonah let him know he'd be waiting in the wings as soon as you two got tired of each other."

Zoe has no idea what Gigi's talking about now. Priya had made sure she got Wade's flowers, but that was all.

Jonah was her friend, a friend she badly needed in that stressful environment. He was always around to bring her a coffee, to sympathize about Jenkins, or to fill her in on the latest hospital gossip.

He was always around. And he'd told Wade—

"I have to go," she says suddenly, and Gigi nods, unsurprised. "This isn't over."

Gigi looks at her levelly. "No, it isn't."

Zoe tears out of the boutique so quickly she leaves the gorgeous green dress sitting on a chair, forgotten.

* * *

All the way home, all she can think about is what she's going to say to Wade. Things have been better between them since the night she broke down, but she realizes now just how much he held back. He let her sob all over him, and all he asked was that she talk to him.

It would serve her right if Gigi did make a play for him.

She blows into the apartment, her cheeks wind-chapped and her breath coming fast, and by a miracle, he's there, with her mom and Javy. Javy is just saying to Candice, "If we don't leave now, you might not make it in time for the red carpet!" and they hurry out the door.

Wade looks surprised to see her, even more so when she throws her arms around him, burying her face in his shirt.

"I'm sorry—" she starts, and then the words tumble out so fast they're barely coherent. "I'm sorry for ignoring you and making you feel like you're not important to me. I'm sorry I'm working so much. I'm sorry I let Gigi take my place, and I don't want to be with Jonah—"

Wade takes her arms, peeling her off of his chest. "Slow down there, girl. You're babblin' faster than Hooper's brook just after the spring rains. What's goin' on?"

She draws in a shuddery breath. "I got into a fight with Gigi."

"OK," he says, waiting.

"There's a picture of her kissing you on her phone."

Wade looks alarmed. "What?!"

"From the Little Big Town party?"

He frowns, thinking, and then blows out a breath. "That wasn't nothin', Zoe. She was just foolin' around."

"So she told me."

He looks at her for a long moment, his hands falling away from her. "You don't trust me," he says flatly, and walks to the windows, staring out at the darkening sky.

She feels a little panicked. "Yes_,_ I do. Of _course_ I do." She comes up behind him, but doesn't reach out to touch him.

"Gigi's been a pretty good friend to me. She's thrown a lot o' work my way, and I appreciate it. But, Jesus, Doc…I _love_ you. I came all the way up here for you. That oughtta mean something."

"It means more than you know." She hates how her voice is shaking. "And of course I don't believe you'd—I know I haven't been there for you, but it hurts a little that you told Gigi what happened with you and Jonah, and not me."

Wade's shoulders sag. "You were already slipping away from me. I didn't want to give you any more reason to shut me out."

Her heart squeezes painfully, remembering Gigi's words, and thinking about how she's left him to find his own way, to build a life for himself in a strange city, all the while assuming he'd be there whenever she needed him.

She slips her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his back. He doesn't turn around, but one hand covers hers. "I'm sorry," she repeats. "I promise to do better—to pay more attention to what's going on with you. But what you said the other night has to go both ways, OK?"

He turns then, cupping her cheek in his hand. "Doc, I—"

Wanting to make sure the air is completely clear, she forestalls him. "One more thing. You know you have nothing to worry about with Jonah, right?"

"If you say so, I do." He finally cracks a smile. "You gonna set him straight?"

Zoe's chin lifts. "If I have to."

"Like to be a fly on the wall for that." His face grows serious again. "Listen, Zoe—"

The doorbell rings.

She looks up at him questioningly. "I can ignore it."

But he seems almost…relieved? "Naw…we're good, right?"

"We could be better." She winks at him over her shoulder as she heads to the door. Gigi herself is on the other side, holding out a silver shopping bag with bright pink tissue peeking out of it.

"My dress!" exclaims Zoe, taking the bag.

"You left it at Annie Bing. Hey, Wade." Gigi's cheeks redden as he comes to the door. "Can we talk for a minute?" she asks Zoe.

"I'm just gonna pop down to the front desk and see if I can get Frank to tell me about that time you two tried to stalk Justin Timberlake," Wade comments.

"See you in a bit." Zoe turns to him, lifting her face up for a kiss. He complies, and then some, leaving her breathless and flushed as she shuts the door behind him and returns her attention to Gigi.

The blonde holds up her hands in submission. "OK, OK, I get it. Everything's hunky-dory in paradise." She stares down at her shoes. "I'm sorry. I may have flirted a little, but I wasn't trying to steal your boyfriend. For starters, he's so disgustingly in love with you, I'd never have a chance."

Zoe can't help the small smile that teases up the corners of her mouth. "You're one of my oldest friends, Gigi. You've helped Wade a lot…and you kinda told me some things today that I really needed to hear. But keep your manicured mitts off my guy, _capisce_?"

"Message received." She hesitates, then asks, "Listen…are you gonna let him work for me anymore? 'Cause really good bartenders are hard to find."

"That's up to him," Zoe folds her arms. "You can text him about it…as soon as you delete that picture from your phone."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	8. Melting Away, Part II

**Melting Away: Part II**

"So they're gone?" Zoe asks.

"Tomorrow. Only eighteen more hours. Not that I'm counting," Alvin groans, head in his hands. "It's just—why can't they be normal?"

"Everyone's parents are mad," Priya assures him. "When I was eight, they took me to the circus—I decided I wanted to be a bareback rider. I thought my mother would have a stroke. 'Beta, we didn't come here from Bangalore so you could ride horses! Now go practice your piano!'"

Alvin laughs. "That sounds familiar. I had to to to Chinese school on the weekends until I graduated high school…that was besides the track practice, violin lessons, and my research internship at Berkeley. I never slept more than four hours a night until after college."

"Wow," says Zoe. "I guess I didn't have it so bad…I was just trying to win back the affections of the man I thought was my father. No big deal." She pauses, taking a sip of her coffee. "He's coming to the gala, by the way."

Across the room, she hears a sharp intake of breath from Dr. Anderson. She hadn't noticed the Twins come in, and Dr. Shankar after them. The three of them are clustered around the vending machine, talking in low voices; when she glances over at them, Dr. Anderson looks away quickly.

"Ignore them," Priya says quietly, having followed her eyes to the corner.

"What is their problem?" Zoe wonders.

Priya smirks. "Jealousy."

"Of me?" Zoe finds this patently ridiculous. "I just got my ass handed to me again today by our lovely Dr. Jenkins, when I used the wrong stitch on that mitral repair. I don't recall her taking anyone else to task in front of the whole OR."

"She wouldn't—" Alvin starts to say, and breaks off as the lounge door opens again. Jonah breezes in, nodding at the Twins and Shankar before approaching the table where Zoe, Priya, and Alvin sit.

Zoe's stomach sinks.

Jonah is grinning from ear to ear. "Guess who just did a solo knee replacement?" Jonah points at himself. "This guy!"

"Congratulations," Priya says. "Did they run out of popsicles in the ortho lounge?"

"You're hilarious. Seriously—Zoe, you gotta come celebrate with me. This is big! How about a drink at The Alibi?"

Zoe isn't inclined to spend any one-on-one time with Jonah, especially after what he said to Wade, but she doesn't feel like she can abandon him entirely. She checks her phone. "I have a consult in half an hour—best I can do is the cafeteria."

"I hear they have lime Jello today—we'll have to pretend it's a margarita!"

They head downstairs, Jonah talking a mile a minute about the surgery, the status of the patient, the jokes the anesthesiologist told…Zoe just lets him run on, remembering the feeling of her first big solo surgery—a gall bladder removal. She had felt on top of the world, like she could conquer anything, so she doesn't really blame him for his exuberance.

When they're seated in the cafeteria, having (wisely) forgone the Jello for only slightly stale chocolate-chip cookies, Jonah says with a grin, "D'you know the patient came in here in a wheelchair, not even able to stand up without excruciating pain? And he's going to walk out of here tomorrow…might even be skiing by Christmas. Pretty great day."

She can't help but respond to his enthusiasm—it is, after all, why they became doctors in the first place. "You did a good thing today, bud." She reaches across the table to high-five him, but he wraps his palm around hers, bringing her hand to his lips. She can't pull away without making a scene, but it's pretty clear that Wade hasn't misread the situation.

"I can't tell you how much your support has meant to me. I couldn't get through this program without you."

"Yeah, well, right back atcha," she says, trying to keep things light as she slowly extricates her hand, which unfortunately does nothing to dim the intensity of his gaze.

"We make a good team, don't you think?"

She cocks her head at him, willfully misunderstanding. "Well, we make good _friends_, if that's what you mean."

Jonah leans forward, lowering his voice. "Zoe, come on. I think there's more to us than that."

Wow. She really, really didn't want to have to do this, especially not on a day when he's rightly celebrating a big accomplishment, but he's not leaving her any way out. "Jonah, look—it's been fun to have someone here who knows Bluebell, and Lavon and Lemon, and Shula…_and_ can listen to me run on about aortic dissections and valve prolapses."

"I know, right?"

"But this—" she gestures between them. "It's not gonna happen. I'm with Wade."

Jonah smirks a little. "Yeah, I know—and hey, bro code, wouldn't want to get in the way…but it just seems like things have been so rough for you two, y'know, maybe…it's just not meant to be?"

It's funny—Zoe has no idea what the future holds, whether she'll stay in New York, go back to Bluebell, move to San Francisco or Chicago or a thousand other places. And if you'd asked her ten minutes ago if she and Wade would be forever, she'd have said, "We're figuring that out." But something in the way Jonah says "not meant to be" calls up a very deep, and very certain, response in her: "I love him, Jonah. And that's not going to change."

She walks away without looking back.

* * *

As it happens, Zoe arrives at the gala with only one man in tow. Ethan's flight is delayed, and he's coming straight to the event. She's not sorry to get to focus all her attention for the time being on Wade, who looks ridiculously handsome in his tux, his hair tamed and his grin nothing short of wolfish when he sees her in the green dress.

His reaction is everything she was hoping, and if he didn't know Frank could see everything on the elevator camera, Zoe is pretty sure they never would've made it down to the lobby. As it is, the things he whispers in her ear on the way cause her to step off the elevator flushed pink as a peony.

Javy drives them to Midtown. He's not going to the party, and whether that's because Carmen decided not to ask him, or because he turned her down, she doesn't know. She's tempted to ask, but Wade keeps her busy in the back seat with a description of the Columbia fraternity boys who came through The Three Monkeys on an increasingly inebriated scavenger hunt, and before she knows it, they're pulling up at the Marriott Marquis.

It's right in the heart of Times Square, and the noise and traffic are nothing to the visual congestion of the ubiquitous billboards, blinking and scrolling and blindingly bright. Wade and Zoe make their way up to the ballroom, which boasts a wall of windows looking out onto the Square, with a view uptown beyond. The theme of the gala is "Have a Heart," and the room is decorated with all the accoutrements you might expect: pink, red, and white balloons, and vases overflowing with roses throughout the room. There's a photo booth (Wade has some totally inappropriate suggestions to make about that) and round tables boasting towers of champagne glasses and hors d'oeuvres.

At one end of the space, there's a stage set up, where, for the moment, a trio plays decorously; Zoe suspects there will be a change in musical genre as the night wears on. There are a few couples already on the dance floor, and she and Wade join them as the strains of "A Kiss to Build a Dream On" float through the room.

"I love this song," Zoe sighs happily.

Wade smiles down at her. "Far's I'm concerned, they can play it all night, if it keeps you lookin' like that."

"It's not just the song."

"No? What else has you so starry-eyed?"

"All of this," she gestures around them. "A fancy party, the chance to blow off steam with some friends, this dress—"

"The dress gets my vote, too," he says quickly, "though I'm bettin' it'll look almost as good on the floor."

"Our first Valentine's Day…it's perfect."

"You gettin' sappy on me, Dr. Hart?" he teases, though his eyes are shining.

"Shut up."

"That's my girl. Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart." Wade leans down to kiss her.

"Mind if I cut in?"

Zoe turns, and Wade's kiss ends up in her hair. "Dad!"

He gives her a hug, and then steps back to look her over. "Wow—don't you scrub up well, doctor?"

She gives him an awkward little curtsey. "I assume this is the boyfriend?" Ethan asks.

Zoe gestures between them. "Ethan Hart, Wade Kinsella."

"Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Hart," Wade says, shaking his hand.

"Likewise."

"I'll let you two catch up," Wade offers, after a pause. "Anybody want a drink?"

"Champagne for me," Zoe says, while Ethan asks for a scotch, neat.

The music starts again, and he moves her smoothly around the floor. "How was your flight?"

"Other than late? Uneventful. How are you liking the program so far? What've they let you do?"

Zoe rattles off a list of diagnoses she's made and procedures she's assisted in. Ethan nods along and says, "Next week, you can look forward to doing an off-pump CABG."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm the attending," he replies, looking a little smug.

"An off-pump bypass? Shankar and Chang have both been waiting to assist on that—they're way more prepared than I am. How did you get me on the procedure?"

Ethan smiles at her. "Zendek and I go way back—we did our residency together. He wanted me to do a demo to train the staff, and I said I'd only do it if you could assist."

Zoe can tell that he's expecting gratitude for standing up for her, but she feels only profound discomfort. She's already unpopular with everyone besides Priya and Alvin. This isn't going to help.

It's also not an issue she wants to deal with right now. Trying to change the subject, she points out, "Oh—there's Wade with our drinks."

Ethan looks over his shoulder, where Wade stands at a bar table, sipping from a beer bottle. "So…how serious is it?"

"What—Wade and I?" He nods and Zoe feels a frisson of irritation. He hasn't called her in almost two months, and now he wants to know about her boyfriend? "He's…amazing," is all she says.

"I see." He obviously doesn't, but she's not feeling like enlightening him right now. The music stops, and they walk back over to Wade.

"Thanks, babe," Zoe says, taking the champagne flute from him. "Oh, look—Priya just got here. Should we go say hi?"

"Maybe in a minute," Ethan cuts in. "I have a few questions for Wade here."

"Dad!" she protests.

Wade reassures her. "It's fine, Doc. You go on—I'll be there soon."

He's being a champ, and Zoe doesn't want to get into it with Ethan in front of everyone, so she lets it go. Giving Wade such a look of gratitude that he lifts his glass in salute, she walks over to Priya and Alvin, who's just come in.

"Hey guys!" Zoe kisses each of them on the cheek. "How's it going?"

Priya rolls her eyes. "Fabulous. My date got saddled with an emergency appendectomy. Typical." She looks stunning, having shed her mousy lab coat and plain ponytail for a red gown with a deep vee and softly ruffled cap sleeves; her glossy black hair spills down her back in marcel waves.

"I told you, Priya, I'll dance with you," Alvin, looking a little like he's playing dress-up in a white dinner jacket, chimes in. He high-fives Zoe. "The parents flew back Tuesday—I'm in the mood to party!"

Priya pats his cheek. "Oh, you sweet boy—if only you weren't a decade too young for me."

"Age is just a number." He winks at her, downing a dangerous-looking shot…then sputters and gasps while Priya pounds his back.

"Alvin-sitting it is," she comments sardonically.

"_Hola, chica!_" Zoe turns to find Carmen, gorgeous in a strapless black sheath, on the arm of a tall black man. "This is Joe," she says, and she looks almost…giggly.

Zoe feels a pang of disappointment for Javy, but it turns out that Joe, a professor of epidemiology, has just done a fascinating study on cardiac risk and air pollution, and her attention is so consumed for the next several minutes that she forgets her friend entirely.

By the time she looks around, Wade and Ethan are nowhere to be seen. Zoe excuses herself from Carmen and Joe, and heads out of the ballroom to track Wade down. In the hallway just outside, she's stopped by a hand at her elbow. "Can we talk for a second?"

"Jonah!" she jumps. Since their scene in the cafeteria, he's given her a wide berth—no dropping by the cardiology lounge, no invitations for coffee or a drink. Not that Zoe minds. "Um…sure, I guess."

They step into an alcove across from the bar area. "So how are you?" he asks nervously.

Anxious to find Wade, Zoe isn't in the mood for small talk. "You had something to tell me?" she prods.

Jonah puts his hands in his pockets and scuffs the toe of one highly-polished dress shoe, and for a minute she can see the kid who lorded it over George and Wade under the man-about-town. "I just wanted to apologize," he starts. "What I said to you—it was over the line."

"Not just to me."

"Pardon?"

"What you said to Wade—that was over the line, too."

Jonah seems taken aback. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that he told you about it."

"He didn't, actually." She leaves it at that; let him wonder where she heard it.

"Yeah, OK…he gets an apology too."

"No time like the present!" Zoe says brightly, seeing Wade walk toward them. "Hey, babe—escaped the lion's den?" she asks, leaning into him.

Wade eyes Jonah up and down warily. "That thing about outta the fryin' pan comes to mind."

Jonah sticks out his hand. "Hey, man—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—well, let's just say I was an idiot. I'm really happy for you both—" He breaks off, and Zoe follows his gaze: Priya, her red dress swirling around her legs, is making her way to the bar.

Jonah's mouth literally falls open, and he refocuses on Wade and Zoe with difficulty. "So—no hard feelings?" he asks, rather hurriedly.

"Just go," Zoe sighs, as Wade nods with a knowing smirk. "But Jonah?" He pauses. "Priya is an amazing person. If you don't treat her like the queen she is, I will come after you."

"I'll be her most loyal knight." Hand on his heart, Jonah bows, then follows Priya to the bar.

"More like the court jester." Zoe turns back to Wade. "So, you survived that conversation with Ethan?"

He shrugs. "He's just protective of you. Wants to make sure I'm not a grifter."

In spite of her earlier annoyance, a little part of Zoe is warmed by Ethan's interest. He did fly all the way here from Germany, after all—maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt. She spots him through the ballroom door, in the center of a group of fawning doctors, and feels a begrudging pride. He _is_ a brilliant surgeon, even if his parenting skills need work.

"It just occurred to me," she says softly to Wade. "You're the only person besides my mom who's met both my dads."

"Well, I'm still getting to know the one, but I'm happy to talk to you about Harley, anytime."

Zoe gestures at the fancy ballroom, the roses, the champagne tower, the evening gowns and tuxes. "What would he have thought about all this?"

"He woulda thought that this was a lotta money to spend to raise some money."

She glances at the large posters, set on easels, advertising the items that will be auctioned off later: a box at Yankee Stadium, a week's stay at an East Hampton compound, VIP tickets to the Taylor Swift concert, even a deep-sea fishing trip on a yacht. Harley probably never attended an event like this in his career, and yet he touched as many patients' lives as any of his well-heeled counterparts.

Dinner is announced, and they head back to their table, where Zoe introduces him to the fellowship group. The Twins have come with matching investment-banker types, while Shankar is solo and Scott has brought his wife, an understated but very attractive woman with a shoulder-length brown bob. A preschool teacher, she turns out to be delightfully down-to-earth, with none of her husband's arrogance. No accounting for tastes, Zoe supposes. Alvin and the still-absent Priya round out their table.

Both the food and the conversation exceed Zoe's expectations, and between a few glasses of wine and the pressure of Wade's foot against hers under the table, she finds she's having a good time. The Twins spend so much time whispering under their breath with Shankar that it leaves their dates hanging; they turn out to be in a cover band in their off-hours, and Wade engages them in a discussion of the tricky riffs in "Sweet Child o'Mine." Just before their entreés arrive, Jonah escorts Priya back to the table. Her eyes are sparkling and she's slightly flushed, and Zoe can't wait to get the details.

In the lull between dinner and dessert, the auctioneer starts warming up the crowd. Zoe excuses herself to the ladies', with strict instructions to Wade not to raise his hand or even scratch his nose. She's still in a stall when she hears two familiar voices.

"I can't believe Hart's luck," Dr. Jarrett is saying.

Dr. Anderson snorts. "It's not luck, Amy. Just like getting the fellowship in the first place wasn't luck."

Zoe is about to push open the stall door when Dr. Anderson continues: "Must be nice to have a famous-surgeon daddy who can pull strings for you."

The sound of a hand dryer luckily covers Zoe's gasp. What the hell? Is this why the Twins and Shankar seem to hate her—because they think she doesn't deserve her spot?

A dozen memories seem to rush on her at once: Ethan's reaction when she got the fellowship—congratulatory, but not particularly surprised. The silence that greeted her introduction on the first day. The mistake she made—a pretty harmless one—and Jenkins' outsize reaction. The number of times she's been taken to task since—far more, she thinks, than anyone else in the group, although she's been better-prepared than anyone else since that first day.

And then, Ethan tonight: "Zendek and I go way back."

_No._

_Just—no._

He hadn't known she was applying for the program. She hadn't told anyone, not expecting to get it.

But she still had his last name, didn't she? How hard would it be for Zendek to connect her with Ethan?

_Not hard at all._

The Twins are long-gone before Zoe steps out to the row of sinks, using every trick she's taught herself in the OR to appear calm, breathing steady, no trace of the tears she's dying to give into.

So no one suspects anything amiss when she walks over to the table where Ethan, Jenkins, and Zendek sit with several high-end donors. She smiles charmingly at them all, asking, "Anyone mind if I borrow Dr. Hart for just a few minutes?"

She should probably let it go, at least until tomorrow, but she feels like she can't sit in that room for one more minute, not knowing. Not knowing whether she belongs there at all.

Ethan raises an eyebrow, but follows her out of the ballroom. Zoe keeps walking, down a long hallway, not stopping until she comes to a dead end at a stairway exit.

"Zoe?!" he calls after her, hurrying to keep up. "What the heck's going on?"

Once again, she musters all her self-control before turning to face him. "Did you push Zendek to give me this fellowship?"

He reels back as though she's punched him, which is a tempting possibility at the moment. "No!" he insists, but he won't meet her eyes.

"I spent most of my life being lied to by you and Mom. I think you owe me the truth now," she demands through gritted teeth.

Ethan runs a hand through his hair. "Zendek called me when he saw your application. I just told him I thought you'd be a great fit."

"Because I'd had so much relevant experience?" she asks with biting sarcasm.

"What should I have done? You were devastated when Tom let you go, and miserable in Alabama—you must've left me ten messages!"

"I wasn't miserable, not after the first few weeks. It took some getting used to, but Bluebell really grew on me. Turns out I'm a damn good GP. And you know what? Every patient, every success I had there? It was all _mine_," she finishes fiercely.

"But Brian and Tamara think you're doing a great job!"

"Of course they would say that to _you_! Too bad everyone else thinks I got a daddy-boost. Imagine if they knew you're not actually my father!"

This barb hits home, and Ethan's shoulders slump. "I may not be your father, but I still want you to be happy. Is that so wrong?"

Zoe spins on her heel, taking a deep breath and trying to tamp down her anger before it explodes further. "You know what would've made me happy? If you'd called me back, or listened to me, instead of going behind my back to pitch me to your friend. Because now I'll never know if I could've done this on my own."

She turns to go—where, she's not sure—but Ethan grabs her arm. "I'm sorry, Zoe. Maybe I did interfere. But you could be a great surgeon, and I'm not the only one who thinks so. Don't throw that away because you're mad at me."

"I need to go," she insists. She hates how her voice wobbles, and for a moment, she wants nothing more than to climb in bed, preferably with the covers pulled over her head for the next four months or so.

"I'll call you tomorrow." It's as chastened as she's ever heard him.

She walks back to the ballroom slowly, taking the time to put her mask back on; the last thing she needs is to fall apart and look ridiculous in front of everyone. She might not have gotten this opportunity solely on her own merit, but she can still earn it. She _is_ a good surgeon, and a great doctor—she can do this.

In fact, she thinks, it's more important than ever that she exude confidence. So she's going to smile, and dance with her boyfriend, and hit the chocolate fountain, hard. She's Zoe Hart, and she can do any damn thing she puts her mind to.

On the way, she grabs a glass of champagne; she's about to gulp it down when she remembers Wade's advice from a few weeks ago. Striding to the bar, she orders a shot of tequila and downs it quickly, grimacing at the burn. There. Now she's fortified. Time to get back in there.

She didn't buy this dress for nothing, after all.

The auctioneer is finished by the time she returns, and a few couples are on the dance floor, including Priya and Jonah, and Carmen and Joe. Wade's not at the table, and she finally locates him by the wall of windows at the other end of the ballroom. There's a small crowd of people there, and they seem to be…congratulating him? Shaking his hand, patting him on the back, and pointing out the window. Wade himself looks—beleaguered is really the best way to describe it—like he wishes the floor would swallow him up.

He catches her eye and grows pale. _What in the world?_ Zoe strides across the room as he extricates himself from his well-wishers. He hurries up to her, sliding an arm around her waist and twirling her onto the dance floor as the band starts to play "You Don't Own Me."

"Where you been, Doc?" he asks, taking his hand off her waist to pull at his collar. "Damn, it's hot in here."

"_What_ is going on?" she demands, momentarily forgetting about the Twins, and her father, and everything except that Wade is definitely channeling the cat who ate the canary. "If you bid on that deep-sea fishing thing—"

Wade blinks. "What? No—I kept my paddle down, just like you told me."

Peering over his shoulder, Zoe sees that more people are looking at them and nodding. Are the Twins spreading rumors? No, they're nowhere to be found.

He's talking a mile a minute, about Jonah asking Priya to dance, Scott and Shankar hoarding all the mini bundt cakes, the "sparks" between Carmen and Joe...but she has the feeling he's just trying to distract her. It almost works, when he suddenly dips her and she nearly slides right off her feet. "Hey, Fred Astaire—little warning next time!" she admonishes, but as he lifts her up, the crowd by the window parts, and she can finally see what everyone's been staring at.

Wade. Wade, smiling seductively at her, from a technicolor billboard ten stories high across Times Square.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**A/N: Dun dun dun! :)**

**Just FYI, I am dealing with house-renovation madness at the moment, so I probably won't be able to post for a few weeks. I promise to make it worth the wait!**


	9. King of the Hill, Part I

**A/N: A million apologies for this unexpected hiatus. Real life walloped me one in May, and I just couldn't get my head above water. I hope you'll find that this was worth the wait. :)**

**Chapter Eight**

**King of the Hill**

**Part I**

"Wade—what the hell?"

The same question had occurred to Wade fifteen minutes ago, when he first saw the billboard. In fact, he got on the phone to Margot immediately to ask her. Considering that it was 11:30pm on Valentine's Day, however, it didn't surprise him that the call went straight to voicemail.

He had wanted to surprise Zoe, it's true. But not like this. This isn't so much a gentle unveiling as the curtains being set on fire.

"Honeypie," she is saying with exaggerated sweetness, obviously not wanting to make a scene in the middle of the dance floor, "You want to tell me why your face is plastered over Times Tower?"

Wade doesn't get a chance to answer, because people keep coming up to them to comment and congratulate. Zoe gets drawn into the melee, assuming a fixed grin. "I know—it's so great—I'm really proud of him!" she says brightly to one well-wisher, gripping Wade's elbow so tight he's losing circulation.

An older lady nudges her and whispers audibly, "So handsome!"

"C'mon, now, Margie—he's taken!" declares Zoe through gritted teeth.

Jonah and Priya are next. "Dude!" Jonah raises his hand to Wade for a high-five. "That is awesome! Gotta say, I did not see that coming!"

"Neither did I!" Zoe turns the full force of her gaze on him. "Wade's just got all kinds of tricks up his sleeve, don't you, babe?"

_Jesus_. _You are gonna be in so much trouble when she finally gets you alone._

There's a sudden rush to the floor as the band strikes up "Copacabana," and Zoe is whirled away from him by Carmen. The gap is filled in with more complimentary revelers, and Wade is carried halfway across the room on the tide of whooping, conga-line-forming, slightly-the-worse-for-wear doctors. Alvin leads the charge, his jacket off, shimmying vigorously in and around and through the line, and Wade sees Priya beckon Zoe over for a quick conference before Zoe dances over to the young man and grabs his arm. "Hey Al!" he hears her shout. "Time to go!"

"Zoe!" Alvin yells back, arms waving above his head. "Your boyfriend's famous, baby!" He grabs her and twirls her around.

Hooking her arm through Alvin's, she pulls him over to Wade. "We're taking Al here home," she tells him, keeping a death grip on the still-boogeying doctor.

"Shots! Shots! Shots!" Alvin starts chanting.

"Aaaand off we go," says Wade, putting an arm around him. When Alvin protests, Wade replies, "Hey, you got your own personal bartender here. I'll fix you up somethin' special when we get you to your place."

They grab Alvin's jacket from his table and steer him to the elevators. All the way down, they're serenaded with an off-key "Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl"; Wade tries to catch Zoe's eye, but she is studiously looking away from him.

The three of them tumble into a cab, putting Alvin on the outside, next to an open window. Just as Wade is about to lean down and start whispering apologies in Zoe's ear, Alvin rolls his head over to squint at her. "You're the best," he slurs, having progressed in his drunkenness from energetic to maudlin. Wade's seen it a hundred times before.

Zoe scoots closer to him, not from any affection, he thinks, but a desire to be out of range should Alvin be sick. "Aw, thanks, Alvin." She pats his arm. "You're great too."

"No, I mean, you're the best—out of our whole group. You work the hardest, you have the steadiesht hands, the shmallesht shtitchesh—" the number of esses in these last few words almost undoes him—"that'sh why Jarrett and Anderson don't like you. Jealoush."

Wade watches Zoe fold in on herself, and sees a tear sparkle in the corner of her eye. "I don't think that's why," she says, very quietly, and Wade realizes there might be more going on than her reaction to his "surprise."

Alvin's only response is a muted snore.

Not long after that, they are pulling up in front of Alvin's building on East 98th. Zoe and Wade roll him out of the cab and decant him into the tiny elevator; he wakes up enough to fish his keys out of his pocket, and they get him inside his junior studio with a little maneuvering. Zoe makes him drink some water, and then he collapses onto his pullout futon.

"Think he'll be OK?" Wade asks.

Zoe nods. "He's still drunk, but not dangerously so." She sets a bottle of Advil down next to his water. "Probably have a pretty bad head in the morning."

On the way down, he asks, "What was all that about the Evil Twins?"

Zoe shakes her head. "It's nothing."

"I saw your face, Doc. It's _not_ nothin'."

"Are you serious right now? I just saw your face on the side of a building, and you're the one demanding explanations from me?"

Wade puts his hands up as they exit the elevator. "I know I owe you the whole story, and I'm happy to tell you. Your thing just seems…more important." He opens the cab door for her.

Zoe leans her head back on the seat. "You know what? I'm beat. How about we table all this—Anderson and Jarrett and my father and how you ended up in Times Square—"

"What about your dad?" he interrupts. He had seen Ethan over by the floor-to-ceiling windows right before they left. The two men had locked eyes, just for a second, before Ethan glanced at Zoe and turned away, shaking his head. Apparently, he wasn't impressed with Wade's sudden celebrity.

Wade's not going to get any answers out of her right now, however. "Tomorrow, OK?" she's saying. "Let's just go home."

He doesn't have the heart to push her further, and it's only a few minutes before they make it back to Candice's. When they get inside, he offers to grab some water while she heads to their room.

"Oh my God…what did you do?" Her voice floats down the hall.

Then he remembers. He had asked Javy for a little help in making the end of their evening special, and as he rounds into the doorway, he sees Javy has done a bang-up job.

There are rose petals scattered over the floor and shaped into a huge heart on the bed. Candles dot the room, just waiting to be lit, and champagne sits in a silver cooler next to some flutes on the dresser.

It would be wonderful—if the evening hadn't gone terribly awry already.

Wade sets the water down and turns to her, running a hand over his face. "Look, Doc, I know tonight kinda got—hijacked—by other things. What say I just clear all this off and—"

She turns, slowly, talking it all in, then starts walking around the room, lighting the candles. When she's done, she comes to stand in front of him. "Our first Valentine's Day hasn't exactly gone to plan, but I think we owe it to ourselves to not let this go to waste, don't you?"

Wade's first instinct is to protest. "Doc, I can't—I can't ask you to put everythin' aside just because of a few rose petals. I'd feel like I was takin' advantage of you."

Zoe looks up at him, and very deliberately pulls at the clip that's held her chestnut curls up, so that they tumble down her back and brush her bare shoulders. "What if I'm the one taking advantage of you?"

"Ain't we been down this road already? I thought we agreed to talk to each other—"

"Oh, we'll talk. Tomorrow." At Wade's skeptical look, she brushes his concerns aside. "It's called compartmentalizing. I do it all the time in the OR…" She licks her lips. "Do you really want to be discussing this right now?"

Actually…no, he does not. Wade traces her cheek, her ear, the line of her jaw with one finger, and she closes her eyes. He tips up her chin to kiss her, sliding one hand into her hair as her lips open beneath his. She makes that little sound in the back of her throat, and he's lost…God, what this woman does to him ought to be illegal.

The feel of her through the tissue-thin fabric of her gown is tantalizing, and he's tempted to rush right on to the main event, but he forces himself to slow down, to savor every moment. Lifting his lips from hers, he goes down on one knee…and it occurs to him that if this evening had gone smoothly, he might've had the courage to get a certain red box out of his drawer…but no. Now is not the time for that, with too many questions, too much uncertainty—but he can still show her exactly what she means to him, and maybe that's enough.

He unbuckles her black strappy shoes, one by one, and sets them aside. She leans into him for balance as he does, and the slit in her dress beckons invitingly. Running one hand up her calf, he presses a kiss to her thigh then flicks his tongue in the crook of her knee…her hands tighten on his shoulders as he takes his time exploring, and it's not long before she's tugging on his shirt impatiently.

Her eyes are clouded with desire and her breath hitches…and he's nearly knocked on his heels by the wave of wanting that crashes over him. "Come here," she urges him.

He smirks. "No rush, is there, Doc?"

"Too many clothes," she protests, trying to loosen his bowtie.

"I'm not done investigatin' the possibilities of this dress." He finds the back of her knee again, and were it not for his hands holding her waist steady, he thinks she might fall in a heap. Deciding he's done teasing, he kisses his way back up to her.

She gets his tie off and sets to work popping the studs out of his tux shirt, while he reaches around to unzip her dress. "Kinda sorry to say goodbye to this," he murmurs, ghosting over her shoulder with his lips. "If you knew what it's been doin' to me all night, you'd wear it all the time."

"That was exactly what I was hoping for." She lets the dress slip down, and he sees exactly what she's been wearing underneath: very little. Wade feasts his eyes long enough that a pink flush rises up from her chest to her cheeks.

"You, Zoe Hart, just might be the death of me." He picks her up and they tumble onto the bed.

"But what a way to go." Her giggle is cut short by a gasp, and that's the last either of them says for a long, long time.

* * *

The next morning, Wade goes out to the kitchen to make coffee, leaving Zoe to sleep. He's still a little nervous about explaining the whole modeling thing—it won't hurt to have her well-rested first.

Candice comes in just as the Keurig is finishing, and he offers her the first cup. "Thank you," she says, sitting down across from him. "So…I gather you two had quite an evening last night."

For just a second, Wade thinks she's referring to their post-gala activities, and he stares down at the granite countertop, mouth dry. But she continues, "Ethan called me. He was really upset—not that I have much sympathy for him."

_Damnit_! He's really going to tear into Margot when he finally gets hold of her. Did they have to put up that stupid billboard on the night he was meeting Zoe's (step)father for the first time?

"How did Zoe take it?" Candice is asking.

Wade rubs the back of his neck. "Well, she was pretty shocked—"

"I would think so!"

"—but we haven't really had a chance to talk about it…"

"So all this time, she didn't know—"

"Yeah, well, it was supposed to be a surprise—"

"A surprise? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"Maybe it wasn't my best idea…"

"_Your_ idea? You knew?"

Wade pauses, realizing that the conversation is making less and less sense. Candice looks confused, too.

"What are you talking about?" they say simultaneously.

"_He's_ talking about his new modeling career, complete with a Times Square billboard," Zoe breaks in, rounding the counter and reaching for the coffee pot. "_She's_ talking about…" her voice falters. "My dad pulling strings to get me the fellowship."

Candice looks like she might faint, but Wade's concern is all for Zoe. "He _what_?"

Zoe takes a breath and sets her mug down deliberately. "Apparently, Ethan and Zendek, the fellowship director, were med school roommates. Zendek called him when he saw my application, and…voila, one spot in a prestigious, highly-competitive program opened right up! Aren't I lucky?" She finishes bitterly.

"Zoe, that's not how it was—" Candice cuts in.

She turns on her mother. "Did you know about this?"

"No! I only know what your father told me when he called last night at almost midnight—he said you'd gone off in a huff and wouldn't let him explain."

"What is there to explain? He leaned on his old buddy to give me a shot, and now I'm in over my head, with Jenkins picking apart everything I do and half the group hating me because they know I don't deserve to be there."

Wade's heart sinks hearing her defeated tone. "C'mon, Doc, give yourself some credit—" he protests, when his phone blares at him from his back picket. He checks the number and pauses.

"Who's that—your agent?" Zoe asks sarcastically.

"Yeah, actually. I've been tryin' to get through to her since last night," he says apologetically.

Zoe waves him off. "Go—"

Wade hesitates, but knows that if he doesn't take Margot's call now, it could be hours before he gets through again. Clicking "Accept," he walks down the hall. "Margot?"

He hears music, and then her full-throated chuckle resonates down the line. "Hey, Alabama Wade!"

"Margot, what the hell's goin' on? My face is all over Times Square!"

"Honey, the Rustic ad tested so well that they decided to buy a billboard—gin up some excitement before the launch next weekend."

"Maybe you coulda warned me?" he admonishes, shutting the bedroom door behind him.

"I sent you an email three days ago!"

_Oh_.

"What's the problem, anyway? I would've thought you'd be thrilled—this should spike sales, which means more cash in your pocket."

"Yeah, no—I get it." He blows out a breath. "I just—I had been savin' it as a surprise for Zoe…but it didn't come at the best time."

The door bangs open. "Can we get out of here?" demands Zoe. "I'm about to kill my mother."

* * *

Wade hasn't run in weeks, and he has a job just keeping up with his sprinting girlfriend. Of course, the view from behind her isn't so bad, and he doesn't miss the appraising looks she gets from passers-by at her trim figure in blue running tights and a black slim-fitting jacket. The cold burns his lungs, and when they finally get to Central Park, he uses a last burst of energy to catch up to her.

"Can we…talk…'bout this yet?" he pants, leaning over to catch his breath. "You're gonna be havin' to do CPR if we keep goin'…I'm as winded as Delma at a town meetin'."

"Sorry," she says, breathing perfectly normally. "I'm just so—I thought she would be on my side, but she really doesn't see what's so wrong with Ethan giving me a 'leg up.' She totally doesn't understand how important it was for me to do this on my own."

Wade takes her hand. "I know it's frustratin', but I think—don't get mad—I think you're missin' the bigger picture here."

"How do you mean?" She folds her arms skeptically.

"Does it really matter how you got your spot?" Zoe bristles, and he continues hurriedly, "What I mean is, seems to me it's more important what you've done with the chance you got, however you got that chance."

"According to Jenkins, I've been screwing up left, right, and center. At least now I know why she's been so hard on me—she doesn't think I can hack it."

"She say that?"

"She doesn't have to. I just know it!"

He shakes his head. "Girl, sometimes you can be blinder than a bat at high noon. Didn't you hear what Alvin said last night?"

"He was drunk!"

"That doesn't make him wrong." He pauses. "You work harder than anybody else, Doc, and you're always tryin' to get better. I think Alvin's got the right of it."

Zoe opens her mouth to argue, but Wade stops her with one finger on her lips. And there, in the middle of the park, she puts her arms around him. "Thanks for believing in me—even if you don't know what you're talking about," she chuckles ruefully.

"Always, baby. I will _always_ have your back." He leans down to kiss her, when over her shoulder he spots two young Asian girls, heads together, pointing at him and giggling.

"You ask him!" one of them nudges the other.

"No—you!"

Wade straightens up, confused. "You ladies lost?"

More giggles. "Aren't you…aren't you the 'Rustic' guy?"

He takes a step back, a little stunned at this evidence that his "fame" is spreading. Glancing at Zoe, he tries to get a read on her response, but she is way ahead of him as usual. "He sure is!" she chortles.

"Ohmygod! That's so cool!" one of them squeals. "Can we get a photo with you?"

"I don't—" starts Wade.

"Of course you can!" Zoe declares, pushing him toward them. She snaps a picture with one of their phones, and the girls wander off, one tapping busily at her screen.

"What just happened?" Wade asks, shaking his head. "And why are you grinnin' like Burt Reynolds with a Big Mac?"

She slides her arm through his. "Because apparently, I'm dating a celebrity! Might as well enjoy it before you throw me over for a swimsuit model…besides, it's taking my mind off my parents. So, you gonna tell me how all this happened?" she asks.

He takes a deep breath. "I went with Trey to this audition thing," he begins, and as they wander around the Lake, he goes on to tell her abut Steve the Jersey guy, and Shawna the photographer, and the fake 'Alabama' set, and Margot not taking no for an answer, and how none of it, actually, seemed real—until last night.

"I can't believe you kept all this to yourself," she says, when he's finished.

Wade shuffles his feet. "You were a little…busy."

She stops and frowns up at him. "You mean I was ignoring you."

"Look, Zoe, we've been over this—"

"No, I know…but how could I expect you to share this with me if I wasn't around?"

He pulls off his "I Love NYC" hat, and starts stretching it between his hands. "I wanted…to surprise you."

"Mission accomplished," she smiles wryly. She reaches up to kiss him, and he blows out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, knowing that he's forgiven. "You know, it's ironic…when we came up here, I was worried that it would be tough on you, away from all your friends, your work, everything. But you're the one who's made a whole new life, new career…New York seems to agree with you."

Wade can't help but hear the wistful note in her voice, as if she's feeling out of place in the city she's always called her home. "Bein' with _you_ agrees with me, Doc, no matter where I have to go or what I have to do to make that happen."

They return to the apartment to find Ethan and Candice in the living room. Wade braces himself for a Zoe explosion, but either the run or their conversation has taken the edge off, and she greets Ethan calmly, if without warmth.

Candice gets up and motions to Wade to come in the kitchen, but Zoe stops her. "No, Mom. We've had enough secrets and hiding. Let's keep this out in the open."

Hands in his pockets, Ethan approaches her. "Zoe, I'm sorry if you feel like I interfered."

She gives him a long look, arms folded across her chest. "Would I have gotten the spot if you hadn't?"

Ethan seems as though he's going to protest, and then thinks better of it. "I don't know," he admits.

Zoe's shoulders droop and her face falls. "Thanks for being honest, at least," she says quietly. "Please make sure you put Shankar or Chang on the CABG." Then she turns and walks down the hall.

Wade hears the bedroom door shut. Candice says to Ethan, "That's probably as much as you can expect for now."

Ethan sighs and nods. "I'll just…" he motions toward the door.

"Good idea," Candice affirms, and he takes his leave with a nod to Wade.

He sinks down on the couch, running a hand through his hair. "That was really the last thing she needed—to feel like she didn't deserve the spot, I mean. She was already so worked up about not bein' Dr. Superstar and feelin' like she had to prove herself."

"She shouldn't be so sensitive," Candice shrugs. "It's really not such a big deal."

With an effort, Wade keeps his voice level. "It's a big deal to Zoe."

"Oh, please," she waves this off. "It's just the way things are done around here. Zoe knows that." Eying him shrewdly, she says, "Don't tell me Bluebell's a perfect little island of meritocracy."

Wade thinks of Brick winning the gumbo contest every year, and the Belles paying court to Delia Ann to fight for Memory Matron, and even Lavon's first mayoral run. He'd been reelected three times because he was a damn fine mayor, but there was no doubt he won the first time because of his status as Bluebell's favorite son. "No," he replies, "Bluebell has its share of folks gettin' ahead because of who they know or who their daddy is, but that's just the thing—that made it even harder for Zoe, 'cause even though she was Harley's daughter, she was still an outsider—and Brick did all he could to remind people of that. She had to work her tail off to get enough patients just to keep the practice."

"I didn't realize…she and I weren't exactly talking then," Candice admits.

But Wade's back is up now, and he's not finished. He remembers those first months after she came, watching Zoe get rebuffed, wincing inside every time someone threw the Founder's Day Parade or Old Man Jackson in her face. (He himself had not been above it, in the early days.) "Zoe earned every patient she got, and she earned herself a life in Bluebell, too. It wasn't easy, but now folks won't hear a word against their Dr. Hart."

"And she left all that to come back up here, and climb that ladder all over again," Candice says, finally understanding. She rests her hand on Wade's for the briefest minute. "Thanks."

He's not sure whether her gratitude is for his explanation or his support of Zoe, but either way he nods, his anger cooling.

"Now," she says with a certain gleam in her eye. "I gather from our conversation this morning that you've made some great strides yourself recently."

Head in hand, Wade groans, embarrassed. "It wasn't—I just kinda fell into it."

"You just kinda 'fell into' a major modeling contract? I know a lot of people who'd be thrilled to take that fall."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Well, if you need a publicist, I know someone…" she winks at him.

_Lord help me_, he thinks.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Part II of this chapter will hopefully be up in the next few weeks. Thanks again for your patience!**


	10. King of the Hill, Part II

**A/N: Dear readers, I am SO sorry for the unconscionable wait for this second half of the chapter. This summer has not gone to plan at all, but I have higher hopes for the fall. Please know that I absolutely intend to finish this story; it just might take me longer than I anticipated.**

**Chapter Eight**

**King of the Hill**

**Part II**

For the second time in a week, Wade finds himself in his tux, heading downtown with Zoe on his arm, reprising the green dress—definitely one of his favorite articles of clothing ever.

The cab pulls up to a certain converted warehouse in the Meatpacking District, and he feels a kind of symmetry in the notion that this is where he met Margot and Trey, and the whole crazy journey got started.

He steps out of the car and is nearly blinded by the flash from several cameras. It's not as if the paparazzi is out in full force—this is a cologne launch, after all, not the Oscars—but it's still disorienting and he holds firmly to Zoe's hand for support. Luckily, Zoe is an old hand at red carpets, having watched so many of Candice's clients walk down them; she glides gracefully past a clutch of screaming girls—_where did they come from_? he wonders—and on into the venue, smiling at each camera in turn.

Wade, on the other hand, is sure the photographers have caught him with his mouth open and his eyes closed, generally looking like an all-out idiot. Fortunately, the carpet is short and the ordeal over quickly.

Inside, it's deja vu all over again, with another band playing country songs on the small stage, and two young, flannel-clad guys whipping up drinks behind the walnut bar. "Feels good to be on the other side, doesn't it?" Trey hails him, leaning over to kiss Zoe on the cheek.

"It's pretty weird, actually," Wade admits.

"This guy," Trey says to Zoe, pointing his thumb at Wade, "does _not_ know how good he has it."

"That's what I always tell him," she cracks.

Trey high-fives her, and Wade protests. "Hey now!" He leans down to whisper in her ear, "What about all the appreciatin' I did on the way here?" Smirking, he watches the pink creep into her cheeks.

The room is fairly crowded, even at this early-ish hour. "Who are all these people?" Wade asks Trey.

The younger man shrugs. "You've got your art director, your ad people, your marketing department, sales, corporate…I could go on," he finishes, but Wade, eyes glazed, shakes his head.

He had had no idea that it required this many people to produce and distribute a product. And all of them would be looking at his ridiculous photos somewhere along the way. It really hadn't seemed like a big deal when it was just him, Shawna, the prop guy, and the makeup girl: go in, take a few pictures, collect a check, and leave. But this…this is much, much bigger than that. If his "look" convinces people to buy Rustic, then all these folks might get raises—bonuses even—would get to keep their jobs, at the very least. But if not…

_Hell's bells._ It's a lot of responsibility.

Just then, Margot finds them. She looks terrifyingly fashionable in an amber-colored silk jumpsuit with her hair piled up and those huge hoops of hers. Wade introduces her to Zoe and the two women size each other up, each nodding in approval.

"I guess I owe you a debt of gratitude," Margot comments.

"Really?" Zoe responds.

Margot smiles. "Wade tells me he'd never have come to New York if it weren't for you."

"Oh, I dunno," he jokes. "Somethin' in me always yearned for nonstop gridlock and slush nine inches deep."

They laugh, and Trey pulls Margot aside to ask her about an audition he's preparing for. They're back after only a few minutes, however, and Margot asks, "Do you all mind if I borrow Wade for a few minutes?" Zoe nods her acquiescence, and Trey asks her to dance. As the two of them head off, Margot slips her arm through Wade's.

"There's a few high rollers here I need to introduce you to."

"Oh, yeah? Who's that?" Wade inquires.

"Investors," she replies. "Always want to see what they've put their money into." She leads him to a roped-off area that's raised up a step from the rest of the floor, containing a few couches and a table. It boasts a sign that reads "VIP Lounge" and a large, black-suited man with close-cropped hair and an earpiece. To Wade, it's all a little ridiculous, but he keeps that notion to himself.

Seated around the low-slung table are three men and one woman. Margot introduces him as "the Rustic Man" and emphasizes that he's "the genuine article." Wade shakes hands all around, noting that one of the men, middle-aged, a little paunchy, straight black hair—looks familiar to him, but he can't think why.

"So, Wade, what's your Q score?" the guy asks him.

He looks at Margot, at a loss. "That's the beauty of it," she says smoothly. "He's a totally fresh face, and you're first in the door! People are going to be associating him with Rustic for a long time, no matter what else he does."

_What does she mean, what _else? _As far as I'm concerned, this is a one-time thing. _ The woman on the couch, her bottle-blond hair contrasting sharply with her deeply-tanned face, gets up. Holding her hand out, she announces, "I think I'll take him out for a spin!"

_I'm not a car_, he thinks, avoiding her hand. Resentment makes his stomach churn, but Margot nudges him on with a significant nod, and Wade rather woodenly follows the woman—Jean? Janet?—to the dance floor. Twirling her around to "Achy Breaky Heart," he searches the room for Zoe, finally spotting her by the bar. She's talking to…Gigi? His nerves are suddenly on high alert for a throwdown of some kind, but the conversation looks amiable enough.

He hasn't seen Gigi since the cell-photo debacle. She had texted him an apology and asked him to work once or twice, but it conflicted with his schedule at The Three Monkeys and, truthfully, he wasn't in a hurry to get drawn back into Gigi's web, even if the money was good. He has it in him to be glad, though, that she has apparently fixed things with Zoe, considering their long history…not to mention the fact that his girl can use every friend she's got right now.

As Gigi leans in to say something to Zoe, Wade notices that she's wearing her headset. _Surely she's not…_but he sees her direct some waitstaff behind the bar and realizes that, in fact, she is.

Sometimes this is a damn small town, for all it has eight million people in it.

He comes back to himself to realize that the song has ended and Jean/Janet (_Jeannette! h_e thinks triumphantly) is tugging insistently on his arm. Dragging his attention back to her, he hears her say huskily, "Let's get some air."

Taking a step back, he plays for time, and is relieved to find Zoe suddenly at his side, going up on tiptoe to give him a smacking kiss. "There you are, sweetie!" she declares loudly. "Been looking all over for you!"

"Hey, darlin'!" he responds enthusiastically. "This is Jeannette—"

"Janet—" interrupts the blonde frostily.

Wade nods. "She's one of the corporate investors. This is my girlfriend, Zoe."

Janet's eyes flicker over the younger woman, and Wade sucks air in though his teeth—the nerve of her! "And what do you do, Zoe?" she asks patronizingly. "I understand Wade here was a _bartender_ before he started modeling."

"Still am a bartender, ma'am." Wade informs her, hugging Zoe closer. "But Zoe, here, she's a heart surgeon."

"Cardio-thoracic, actually," Zoe puts in.

Janet's face implodes as though she's just sucked a lemon. "Well. How interesting. I must be getting back to the VIP area."

"Oh! If Mark Cuban's still over there, tell him Zoe Hart says hi!" Zoe waves, a twinkle in her eye.

As Janet huffs away, Wade snaps his fingers. "I knew I recognized that guy! Wally used to watch _Shark Tank_ nonstop in the back room at the Jammer. How d'you know him?"

"Remember I told you about those parties my mom had, where someone always lost their pants?" She tips her head in the direction of the VIP area.

"Seriously?"

"Yup," she giggles. The band starts playing

_You know I'd fall apart without you  
__I don't know how you do what you do  
_'_Cause everything that don't make sense about me  
__Makes sense when I'm with you_

Wade slides his arms around her; as they move slowly to the music, she looks up at him with a grin. "So…looked like you needed a little rescuing there."

"Janet?" Wade scoffs. "I coulda handled her."

"She was practically eating your earlobe."

"She did have somethin' of the vulture about her," he admits.

"Mm-hmmm…" Zoe presses herself close to him, and he revels in the contact. It seems like an age since they were alone together in the car. "Well, Wade Kinsella, just remember who you're going home with."

_I want to wrap you up  
__Want to kiss your lips  
__Want to make you feel wanted_

He pulls her up so that her feet barely touch the floor. "You're makin' goin' home sound awfully good right now," he growls, kissing her until catcalls erupt around them. Taking her hand, he scans the room for a convenient exit.

_I want to call you mine  
__Want to hold your hand forever  
__And never let you forget it…  
__I want to make you feel wanted_

They're halfway to freedom when Margot accosts him. "Hey, cowboy! Where do you think you're going?"

He pulls up short, Zoe grabbing his arm to keep from falling in her high heels. "I've told you a bunch o' times, there's no cowboys in Alabama." Funny thing…he always got a little thrill when Zoe used to call him that, way back before they got together. Coming from Margot, however, it just sounds ridiculous, and reminds him of the part he's playing.

She waves him off. "Honey, I'm from Miami. Anything west of Tallahassee is open prairie as far as I'm concerned. Now, are you going to tell me where you were headed?" Her rich brown eyes bore into him.

"Uh—we were just—"

"Early shift tomorrow," Zoe cuts in, and yawns for effect. "Need my sleep if I'm going to do four pacemaker implants."

"Of course, I understand," Margot smiles sympathetically. "It's probably for the best. Wade's the face of this launch, after all, and he really needs to do more…._mingling_." There's a certain emphasis on the last world that Wade doesn't like.

She stands there, arms folded, as if staring down two recalcitrant children, until there's nothing to do but walk Zoe out the front door and call her a cab. "This is _not_ how I wanted tonight to go," he apologizes.

Zoe kisses him, and smothers a yawn, genuine this time. "It's OK…I really do have an early shift. Besides the implants, I'm assisting Zendek in a valve replacement and God help me if I'm anything less than hyper-awake."

Wade shakes his head, opening the cab door for her. "Doc, I don't know what I ever did to deserve you."

"I can think of a few things," she twinkles up at him, and then she's gone.

Margot is waiting for him when he walks back in. "All set?' she asks brightly, ignoring his lack of enthusiasm as she whisks him off to perform like a damned monkey for another group of people with an inflated sense of their own importance.

Two hours later, he's chatted, charmed, and danced with what seems like the entire room, as well as taken an endless parade of selfies with some alarmingly young-looking girls. ("Don't worry," says Margot. "They're all legal…we checked."…which only makes Wade worry more.)

Finally, the room is largely cleared out and Wade gets "permission" to leave. As he's headed out the door, she calls to him. "See you in Chicago on the 15th!"

"What?" he asks, thinking he's misheard her over the clinking of glasses and bottles as the waitstaff cleans up.

She comes closer so she doesn't have to yell. "Chicago. The fifteenth. Then Denver…we'll have a few days of downtime there; no point getting to San Francisco before the 21st…do you ski?"

"No—wait—you want to tell me what in the blue blazes is goin' on?"

She raises an eyebrow at him. "You haven't read your email, have you? Sharice sent out the itinerary last week." At Wade's blank look, she speaks slowly, as if to a child. "The. Itinerary. For the publicity tour. Chicago, Denver, San Francisco, Seattle, Dallas, Atlanta." She ticks off each city on her fingers.

Wade blinks. "How long?"

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks! I can't be gone for two weeks! I got a job!"

"Yes," clips Margot. "You do. You're the representative for this brand. It's in your contract." She lets that sink in. "I'll see you on the fifteenth."

Wade runs a hand over his face as Margot turns on her impressive heels and stalks away. Carrie is _not_ gonna be happy.

And neither will Zoe.

* * *

Wade works double shifts at The Three Monkeys for the next few weeks to make up to Carrie for the time he'll be gone on the launch tour. He's busier than ever there, thanks to both the billboard and certain photos from the party that went "viral" (whatever that means). Apparently, The Three Monkeys has joined the ranks of "Top Ten Places to Spot Celebrities" on several New York websites. Most nights, he comes home almost too tired to take off his clothes, having spent much of the evening warding off requests for his phone number, as well as more blatant suggestions.

Zoe isn't thrilled about him being gone, but volunteers to serve a few extra on-call nights, figuring that if Wade's not going to be home, she might as well ingratiate herself with Zendek and Jenkins. She's never approached them about her connection with Ethan, having taken Wade's point that it's not about how she got the fellowship, but more about her performance since…but that only means she puts more pressure on herself to be the very best.

Margot sends him an email (he checks them now—daily) to let him know that the print ads for Rustic are out in several magazines. He doesn't think much of this news, even though dozens of publications litter the apartment because Candice considers "keeping up with things" crucial to her career; Wade himself never looks at them.

He forgets, however, that magazines are delivered all over the country…even to tiny towns in Southern Alabama.

One night, Wade arrives home even later than usual, his typical closing routine interrupted by an altercation between two of his "fans" outside the bar. He manages to break things up without damage, either to the girls or The Three Monkeys' front window (and, most importantly, without anyone taking a picture) and falls exhausted into bed. Sleeping soundly through most of the morning, he wakes to find his phone lit up with notifications for texts and calls:

**Addy Pickett 7:08am  
**_There's the most ridiculous photo of somebody who looks just like you, only cleaner, in a cologne ad in my Cosmo. Ain't that funny? LOL._

**George Tucker 7:25am  
**_Please tell me this isn't you._

A wavy-looking photo of the Rustic ad is inserted underneath, with the caption, _What the hell, man?_

**Dash DeWitt  
**Missed Calls (3)

**Wally Maynard** **8:52am  
**_What is this straw-chewin' shot of you doin' in my _Field & Stream?

**(251) 799-7007 9:07am  
**_Wade, it's Shula. Wally showed me your picture—so handsome! I told him we have to put it up on the wall at the Jammer, with the other famous folks. ;-)_

**Addy Pickett 9:15am  
**_Bill says it _IS_ you. Zoe know about this?!_

As he's scrolling through, his phone buzzes with another call from Dash. He pushes the "Decline" button just as fast as he can, and sets the phone down with a sigh, only to hear a deep chuckle coming out of the mouthpiece.

"Wade! I know you're there. Now 'fess up like a man and tell me why the hell my _SI_ smells like pine smoke with your face on it."

"Hey, Lavon," Wade says tiredly, picking the phone back up.

"Well?"

"It's a long story."

"As it happens," Wade can just see the mayor leaning back in his chair, putting his feet up on his desk—"I got plenty of time. Just have to judge the Christian Women's sweet potato pie contest at 1:00."

He sighs, explains how he inadvertently fell into modeling, and only has to pull the phone away from his ear three times when Lavon's guffaws get too loud.

"Aw, man," Lavon wheezes, when he's finished. "That's the best laugh I've had in a coon's age."

"Happy to be of service," Wade comments wryly.

"I always thought if you got famous, it'd be 'cause of your music, or maybe your conquests…that was before Zoe Hart came to town, o'course…" Lavon finishes diplomatically.

"Yeah, well, sometimes life takes a turn."

"Just as long as it doesn't turn you away from your roots, Ol' Green Eyes."

Lavon's teasing only partly glosses over the unspoken question that hangs in the air between them, a question Wade has no idea how to answer. He decides to change topics.

"How's the weddin' comin' along?"

"Well, the last Belles meetin' ended with Cricket nearly getting scalped by Lemon's cousin Betty over who was gonna host the bridal shower, and Maybelline's not speakin' to me on account of us ordering our cake from Annabeth Nass—"

"You're not havin' Butter Stick cake at your reception?"

"Lemon says we need to spread our custom around, give other folks a chance…she's already asked Maybelline to do the tarts for the rehearsal dinner and the pastries for the day-after brunch—"

"Day-after brunch?! Just how many days is this weddin' gonna last?"

"Only three or four…not more'n a week, if you include the bachelor and bachelorette parties."

Wade rolls his eyes, but isn't surprised. For all she's evolved in the last year, he can't see Lemon Breeland missing an opportunity to bring Bluebell to its knees in her name.

"Now, you gonna get down here early enough to rent your tux, right? Or do you want me to give the Weddin' Warehouse your measurements?"

"I—" Wade starts, and cuts himself off. It seems weird to admit that he _owns_ a tux now. "No, I'll be there—don't you worry."

They hang up a few minutes later, and he wanders out into the living room, wondering how he's going to face Dash, Shula, Wally, and the rest when (_not if) _they get back to Bluebell. He's so lost in thought that when he rounds the corner to the kitchen and finds Candice and Javy in a passionate liplock, he can't even process it.

"What the—"

They spring apart.

"Wade!" Candice exclaims, her voice unnaturally high. She hurriedly closes her robe over something black and lacy—Jesus, he really didn't need to see _that_. "I thought Zoe said you had an early meeting at the agency."

"Got moved to tomorrow." He looks from one of them to the other. "Y'all wanna tell me what's goin' on here?"

Javy puts his arm around Candice almost defiantly. "We've been…together for six months or so."

Wade raises an eyebrow. "Any particular reason you're keepin' it under the radar? The CIA after you or somethin'?" he jokes.

Candice and Javy trade looks. "Not the CIA," Javy sighs. "But INS is another story."

"INS?"

"Immigration," Candice supplies.

Shocked, Wade says, "Javy, you've been here since, what, '82? Aren't you a citizen by now?"

The older man runs a hand through his hair and takes a few steps toward the windows. "I've applied three times, and each time I've been told to reapply in a year or five. I have—or had—a green card, and permanent resident status…but it expired when Rosa died, and I was in such a state that I forgot all about it. Turns out it's not easy to renew an expired green card."

Wade puts a hand on Javy's shoulder. "I'm sorry, man…seems like the system never works for the people it should. Does Zoe know?"

Candice shakes her head. "We didn't want to tell anyone. I talk to reporters all day long—if any of them knew I was with Javy and decided to check into him, it could all come out."

"It's not right. There oughta be somethin' we could do."

She smiles at Wade's pronoun and slips her arm through Javy's. "I have the best immigration lawyer in the city working on it. He said it'll probably be fine, but it takes time—there's so much red tape. And in the meantime, Javy's vulnerable."

"Look, I get that you don't want anyone else to know, but you gotta tell Zoe," Wade insists. "You know she's not gonna spill the beans."

"It's not that—" Candice protests. "It's just—it seems like too much of a risk—"

"Well, I wish _I_ didn't know—but I do. And I can't keep it from her—we've gone through a lotta crap, and I've promised to be straight with her, always."

"I'm glad for that, Wade, but this isn't your secret to tell," she says frostily.

He looks at her for a long moment. "I'm gonna be gone for the next two weeks. I'd really appreciate it if y'all could find your way to sharing this with her before I get back." His tone softens. "For starters, she'd be thrilled to know you both have someone."

She nods, almost imperceptibly, and Javy reaches out to shake Wade's hand. "I appreciate it, _hermano_. You know I only want the best for Zoe…and this family."

"That makes two of us," Wade replies.

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

Unshaven and bleary-eyed, Wade slumps over the extended handle of his carry-on suitcase, peering at the rotating black belt of Carousel 5 and praying for a glimpse of his old khaki duffel. Margot made him buy the suitcase in Chicago because his duffel, as she put it, "looks like a bodybag." ("Thought you wanted me to be 'authentic'," he'd shot back, at the time. "Authentic—not arrested," she'd replied. Truth be told, his clothes get a lot less wrinkled in the suitcase, and he hasn't had a shampoo explosion the whole trip, so maybe it was a good investment.)

He's just contemplating leaving the old duffel, and all the dirty clothes therein, to the vagaries of JFK's lost luggage department when two arms wrap around his waist and a stern voice orders, "Don't you EVER leave me alone with my mother for two weeks AGAIN, Wade Kinsella!"

Wade turns and crushes Zoe to him, burying his face in her hair. "Oh my God, Doc, you are my salvation—but I thought you were on call tonight?"

She starts to reply, but he can't wait another moment, and cuts her off to kiss her breathless, much to the initial amusement, and eventual discomfort, of an older woman standing nearby. "Excuse me," she says loudly, maneuvering around Wade as her bag comes into view.

He breaks off from kissing his girl to grab the bag and set it at the woman's feet. "Always could talk and chew gum at the same time," he remarks with a grin. The woman harrumphs, but can't entirely resist the Kinsella charm, giving him a nod as she walks briskly away.

Soon after, Wade and Zoe are in a cab headed uptown. Tucking herself against him, she asks, "So…how does it feel to be a celebrity?"

Leaning his head back, he closes his eyes. "Lemme tell ya, darlin', fame ain't all it's cracked up to be."

"Were the green rooms out of Fiji water again? Did they forget to pick out the brown M&Ms?"

"Very funny. Truth is, it was just a lot o' smilin' at folks and shakin' hands and pretendin' to learn people's names that I'd forget two seconds later." He yawns. "And takin' 'spontaneous' photos everywhere we went so the team could put 'em on the internet or whatever."

"Yeah, I know," Zoe remarks. "I saw them. I particularly liked the one in San Francisco, at Ghiradelli Square? Where those three girls were trying to feed you a hot fudge sundae?"

Wade opens one eye, trying to gauge whether her feathers are truly ruffled. He can't tell. "Doc, you know that was just—"

"Or how about Chicago, where you had your arm around Miss Deep Dish 2012 at the top of the Navy Pier ferris wheel?"

"Zoe—"

"But my _favorite…_was Dallas, when that Cowboys cheerleader was riding behind you on the mechanical bull—" Unable to help herself, Zoe dissolves in hoots of laughter.

"Hey, it's not like I _wanted _to—"

"Sure," she subsides, with difficulty. "I'm sorry—it's just…you know it's ridiculous, right?"

"I am aware," he comments wryly. "And if I ever had a mind to get a big head about it, the 72 messages I got woulda set me straight right quick." At Zoe's look, Wade explains. "Seems like just about everybody in Bluebell's joined Facebook just to see my ugly mug. Thanks a lot, Big Ethel."

"Oh, wow, that had to be rough."

"I may never be able to walk through the square again without someone catcallin' me, but hey, at least Lavon and George'll have a bushel full of stupid cologne jokes to torment me with, so I got that to look forward to." Pulling Zoe closer, he tips her chin up. "Now, enough about my cross-country odyssey of stupid. I ain't set eyes on you for two long weeks and I got a lotta catchin' up to do." He kisses her once, softly, and pulls back to see the amused twinkle in her eyes give way to something deeper.

"I missed you," she breathes, running a fingertip inside his shirt collar in a way that ratchets Wade's temperature up about ten degrees. Catching her hand, he plants a kiss on her palm as the cab swings over to the curb in front of their building.

Grinning wickedly, he whispers, "Bet I can get this luggage upstairs and get you naked in under five minutes."

"Challenge accepted," she smiles against his lips.

She climbs out hurriedly, but then just stands there, stock-still. "Hey, girl, get a—" Wade starts to say, then stops as he steps onto the curb to see an ambulance, lights flashing, pulled over just ahead of them…and two blue-uniformed paramedics wheeling a gurney across the sidewalk.

It's Javy, his face pale under an oxygen mask. Candice hurries alongside, clinging to his hand, her face a mess of panic and smudged mascara.

Zoe screams, "Mom!" and rushes to her as they load Javy into the back.

"Heart attack," Candice chokes out, giving her a brief hug before climbing into the ambulance.

"Where are you taking him?" Zoe cries to the medic shutting the doors.

"New York Pres."

Wade slides back into the cab, holding his hand out to Zoe to help her in, and then they're speeding back up the street.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Thank you all, so much, for your patience. Realistically, it will probably take a couple of weeks to post the next chapter because back-to-school craziness is upon us, but we aren't too far from the end of the story. :)**


	11. It's Up to You

**A/N: Guys…I just don't know what to say. Life has not been working out predictably lately, and I am once again forced to trespass on your understanding. I've decided to stop giving myself deadlines that I invariably run through, but I do pinky promise that this story will get finished. Thanks for hanging in there!**

**(Also: I'm not a medical professional. If you are, please feel free to LMK anything I've got wrong! ****)**

**Chapter Nine**

**It's Up to You**

Heart pounding, Zoe races through the sliding doors into New York Pres' Emergency Room, leaving Wade to pay the taxi. Candice is standing by a bank of empty chairs, mopping her eyes with a Kleenex and looking as lost as Zoe's ever seen her.

"Mom." She pulls Candice into a hug, prompting a fresh wave of sobs, and then steps back. "Tell me what happened."

"We were about to leave—I had a meeting with Rafael Nadals' agent. Javy started rubbing at his arm…said he must've pulled something playing squash…and then—" Candice takes a breath to steady herself. "He just…crumpled," she finishes, one hand to her mouth.

"Where is he now?" Wade asks, setting his suitcase and duffel down.

Candice gestures to the double doors at the end of the room. "They took him back there. Wouldn't let me go because I'm not 'family.'"

"The hell you're not," Wade insists, and a look passes between them that Zoe doesn't have time to decipher.

"Look, Mom, don't worry." She rummages in her purse, pulling out her hospital badge. "I'll see what's going on, OK?"

Candice nods, dabbing at her eyes again. "Tell him that I—tell him that we love him," she says shakily, and Wade puts his arm around her.

Zoe gives him a grateful look and heads back to Triage. It doesn't take her long to find Javy, still on the ambulance gurney, in one of the Level-3 rooms. This is good, suggesting that he's stabilizing. They're hooking him up to a heart monitor and readying an IV for him.

The attending nurse comes out of the room, stopping short in surprise when she sees Zoe. "Dr. Hart! I didn't realize you were the cardio on call."

"I'm not," Zoe replies. It's ironic, really: she _should've_ been on call, but she switched with Alvin so she could pick Wade up at the airport. She nods in Javy's direction. "He's a friend."

The nurse takes this in. "Well, as you can see we're following protocol. He's responding pretty well: BP at 130/90, pulse low but steady. He seems to be evening out." She pauses. "Did you want to see him?"

Zoe looks at the personnel buzzing around Javy and knows she'd be in the way. "Maybe in a few minutes, when you guys have finished. Where's—"

Just then, Alvin comes into view, hurrying down the hall, pushing his glasses up his nose as he goes.

"Alvin!" Zoe gasps in relief, throwing her arms around him.

"Zoe?" he asks, confused. "I thought you were picking Wade up. Sorry, I've got to—" he motions through the glass partition.

"No, I know. Of course—go. Just—Alvin?" He turns back to her. "He's a friend. Has worked for my mom for years."

Alvin nods. "Wait here. I'll give you an update after I examine him."

Zoe agrees, and heads to the nurses' station, trying to keep out of the way of everyone rushing around. It's strange to be an observer, instead of an integral part of this complicated machine, and she's tempted to throw on a lab coat and pitch in. It would be better than standing here useless, but she knows that hospital policy prevents it.

Fortunately, she doesn't have long to wait before Alvin comes back. "OK, we're taking him up for an EKG and an MRI. Do you want to see him for a second?"

"Please."

When she walks into the room, Javy's eyes light up above the oxygen mask, and he raises a finger in greeting. "Don't try to talk," Zoe instructs him quickly, knowing how wearing that is on a person in Javy's condition. "I just wanted you to know we're all here. Mom called Alessandra and Ricky, and they're on the way."

Javy nods almost imperceptibly, his eyes fluttering closed. They will have sedated him slightly for the MRI so he doesn't move.

Alvin appears at Zoe's side, indicating that they need to go, and she bends over the bed to press a kiss to Javy's temple, about the only inch of skin not covered in sensors or equipment. "Don't worry about a thing," she tells him. "Dr. Chang here is on the case."

She makes it out into the hall and around the corner before the tears come, thinking of all the times Javy's been there for her, like when he came to her piano recital because her mother was stuck in a meeting and her father was in Hong Kong, or when he picked her up from a party in tenth grade and never said a word about the fact that she reeked of beer. When she got into Johns Hopkins, he couldn't have been prouder of her than if she was actually his child.

Zoe only allows herself to wallow in the memories for a few minutes. _Pull yourself together, Hart._ Her mother needs her to be strong, and at least Zoe has the luxury of knowing what Javy's chances are.

Of course, she also knows all the things that can go wrong. But she's not going to think about that right now. That won't help Javy, and it won't help Candice either.

When she gets back out to the waiting room, there's a young woman, her black hair a long ribbon down her back, and a slightly younger man with his mother's round face shaking hands with Wade.

"Lissa!" she cries, hugging her, and then gives Ricky a kiss on the cheek. "It's so good to see you both. I just wish it wasn't here."

"Please, Zoe, what have you found out?" interjects Candice, and Zoe tells them what she knows, which is that Javy is stable for now and they're doing further tests.

She uses her reassuring "doctor's voice," but Lissa eyes her shrewdly. "Is he going to be OK? Just be straight with us."

Zoe takes a deep breath. "It's a good sign that he's able to tolerate the tests. We'll just have to see what they show."

"It don't make sense," Wade puts in, shaking his head. "I mean, he's what—barely fifty? Keeps himself in shape…I couldn't keep up with him on the squash court—"

"He has high blood pressure—started medication for it last year," Candice announces in a shaky voice. "The doctor told him—reduce your stress, no more drinking—"

Zoe looks at Lissa and Ricky for confirmation, but they are as surprised as she is by this information. "He—he didn't want to worry you," Candice explains, a flush rising in her cheeks…and now Zoe is really confused.

She's about to investigate further when Alvin comes through the double doors. "Here's Dr. Chang," she points, and her mother looks up in relief.

Zoe introduces him when he joins their little huddle, explaining that while Javy is out of danger for the moment, the MRI revealed a blockage in his artery that will require a stent.

"Does that mean surgery?" Lissa asks, the toe of one pump tapping nervously.

"It does," Alvin answers.

Ricky runs a hand through his hair. "Is it dangerous?"

"Well, all surgery carries risks, and a heart procedure, by its nature, can be problematic. But honestly, given the narrowing of your father's artery, I think _not_ doing the implantation is more dangerous," Alvin responds.

Ricky nods. "When?"

"We'll keep him here for a few days and make sure he's strong enough for surgery…so, probably later this week."

"Will you do the procedure, Dr. Chang?" Candice asks, and Zoe raises an eyebrow at her. She was a surgeon's wife, she knows how these things work. "Mom, you know it's Zendak's decision."

"Of course. How silly of me." Candice puts a hand to her forehead, and Zoe is immediately ashamed of her biting tone.

"Sorry—I guess we're all on edge." She slides her arm through Candice's, and Alvin looks around the group.

"Well, if you don't have any other questions right now, I'll get back to my patients. Not to worry, though, we'll have a pre-op conference, in case anything else occurs to you." He turns to go, but Lissa catches the sleeve of his lab coat.

"Can—can we see him?"

"Yes, but only two at a time, for five minutes each. Rest is the most healing thing he can do right now."

Zoe nods to Lissa and Ricky. "You two go on ahead. I know he's anxious to see you."

As they head to the doors, Candice collapses into a chair, shoulders shaking. Zoe puts a hand on her arm. "Mom…I really think he'll be OK."

"It's my fault," she sobs.

"What? What in the world are you talking about? Javy's a grown man. If he wasn't following his doctor's advice, that's not your—"

"No—it's not that. I knew he was so stressed—and we got into a fight—"

"Fights don't cause heart attacks, Mom. And like I said, if he's careful, he should be OK."

Candice straightens then, her eyes rimmed with tears and smudged mascara. "What will I do if he's not?"

It's the most pitiful Zoe has ever heard her strong, hard-charging mother sound. And it makes her a little angry. "I'm sure we can find you a new Man Friday," she says acerbically, rather aghast—though not particularly surprised—at this evidence of Candice's self-centeredness.

"Zoe," Wade says, warning in his tone, while Candice's ravaged face goes white under her makeup.

"Is that what you think I'm worried about?"

Shame burns Zoe's cheeks. "It just sounded—"

"I love him."

"I know, Mom, we all do. He's like part of the family." She pats Candice's hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be harsh."

"Doc, you're missin' the plot, here," Wade says, sitting down opposite them. "C'mon, Candice, fill her in."

Her mother takes a shuddery breath. "Javy and I—"

It's all she gets out before the tears well again, but it's enough. Suddenly, the puzzle pieces click together in Zoe's mind: Javy's lack of "sparks" with Carmen, Candice's brusque reaction when they came home from dinner, a hundred small touches and glances between them that she just shrugged off.

In spite of the dire situation Javy is in, Zoe feels a little zing of happiness. Throwing her arms around Candice, she exclaims, "That's great! Really great!"

A few other occupants of the waiting area, having seen Candice sobbing, look at Zoe askance, and Wade suggests, "Hey, darlin', maybe you want to keep it down."

"Why?" she asks, in a more moderate voice. "I'm so happy for you two—I mean, not in this moment, obviously, but—"

"You can't say anything!" Candice urges in a whisper, just as Alessandra and Ricky return. "How—how does he look?" she asks them.

"Tired," says Lissa. "But he's still smiling."

Candice nods. "That's our Javy."

Zoe's head swivels back and forth between the three of them, wondering why, exactly, she's supposed to keep Candice and Javy's relationship from his children. Perhaps Lissa and Ricky, still mourning their mother, aren't ready to acknowledge a new connection.

"You can go back now," Ricky reminds them.

Candice looks to Zoe, who shakes her head, having no intention of playing third wheel now that she knows. "It might be less tiring for him with just one person in there. I'll see him during rounds later."

Her mother smiles at her gratefully and is gone with a squeeze of Zoe's hand.

* * *

Later that night, they are finally back at the apartment. She gives Candice a mild sedative, and stays long enough in her room to make sure it's working.

Pushing her own door open, she sees Wade sprawled on the bed, still in his traveling clothes, one arm flung over his face. Smiling to herself, she carefully unties his boots and tries to slip them off. The right one puts up a fight, and she yanks a little harder than she intends, ending up on her backside, boot in hand.

"Takin' the whole leg with ya, Doc?" Wade asks blearily, struggling to a sitting position.

Zoe stands up, tossing the boot into the corner. "I was trying not to wake you. You're welcome," she comments sardonically, shedding her jacket and sliding out of her shoes.

"If you're gonna be strippin' my clothes off, I'd like to know about it," he smirks, then pats the bed next to him. "Now, c'mere."

Zoe sighs and lays down next to him. "You must be exhausted. It seems like forever since I picked you up from the airport."

"It's been a long day, that's for sure."

"Yeah." She toys with the buttons on his shirt absentmindedly. Something is lurking in the corner of her thoughts…some question she wanted to ask…

Wade kisses her head. "You really think Javy's gonna be OK?"

"Surgery is never easy, but his chances are excellent." The mention of Javy breaks through the fuzziness in her brain brought on by exhaustion and she sits up. "How did you know about my mom and Javy? And why didn't you tell me?"

Wade runs a hand through his hair, wincing. "Any chance we can talk about this tomorr—" The end of his question gets swallowed up in a huge yawn, but Zoe is undeterred.

"Nope. But I'll make a deal with you: start spilling the beans and maybe I can help get the rest of these things off."

Suddenly, Wade is wide awake. As he relates the story of catching Candice and Javy by the kitchen, Zoe unbuttons his shirt and slides it off his shoulders. Her hands go to the button on his jeans, but still when he mentions Javy's immigration status, as she remembers something Candice said earlier.

"No wonder he's been feeling so stressed. That definitely could've contributed to his heart attack. God, that _sucks_." She sits back on her heels. "What can we do to help?"

"Your momma said she has the best immigration lawyer in the city workin' on it. I guess 'bout all we can do is help her stay calm, and help Javy get better."

"You're right," Zoe sighs, then focuses on him again. "You haven't told me why you kept it to yourself, though."

"Candice asked me to. I was just leavin' on my trip, and I told her she needed to come clean to you while I was away. Guess she didn't."

"No…though to be fair, I hardly saw her. I took extra on-call shifts so I could have time off when you came back, and she wasn't home much…at least now I know where she was."

"Javy's good for her, I think," Wade offers, pulling her back down beside him.

"They're good for each other," Zoe agrees, snuggling into his bare chest. "And I'm so happy for them—but he could've said something when I was setting him up with Carmen. What if she had really liked him?"

He laughs. "From what I've seen of Carmen, she can take care of herself…and she's sweet as sugar plums on that Joe, anyway, right?"

"Oh, yeah—I don't think they've spent a night apart since the gala."

"See? It all worked out. Now—" He kisses her forehead. "You and me have gotta get some sleep, or we'll be no good to anybody tomorrow."

Zoe knows he's right, but having him back in their bed after two weeks…a very long two weeks…she feels like maybe sleep can wait, just a little. Sliding up, she starts unzipping his jeans again.

"Girl, what're you doin'?"

"Just keeping up my end of the bargain. Besides, you don't want to sleep in those jeans, not after you've been on the plane and in the hospital…"

"I 'preciate you bein' concerned for my hygiene…though you may be right. What I really need is a shower."

"Hmmm…I feel kinda grimy myself…" Zoe says, eyes sparkling.

"Do you now? Well, I'll wash your back if you wash mine." He runs a finger down her neck to the vee of her blouse, popping open the buttons with a practiced hand.

Suffice it to say that the supply of hot water in the Hart residence is severely depleted that night.

* * *

"Damn and blast," Priya remarks, dropping into a chair next to Zoe in the lounge, "If I have to listen to Shankar's playlist during a pacemaker implant one more time, I'll stab him in the eye with a lancet. Gagnam Style, indeed!"

"That's rough," Zoe comments. "Sounds like you might need the tasting menu at Le Bernardin to recover. Oh, wait—"

The hint of a blush darkens Priya's cheeks, and Zoe asks, "So? Still going well with Jonah, I take it?"

"I'm training the frat boy out of him," Priya smirks, then looks serious. "How's Javy doing?"

"I checked in on him during rounds today. He's getting restless, which is a good sign."

"When do they want to do the surgery?"

"I'm just waiting to hear. I think they had a few emergency procedures, so that upended the schedule."

Just then, Anderson enters the lounge, coming straight to their table. "Jenkins wants to see you, Hart," she announces in a clipped voice.

"Good Lord, Val, what is your problem?" Priya demands.

"No problem," Val bites out, then turns on her heel and stalks away.

Priya just rolls her eyes, but Zoe feels her chest burn. She never told Priya what she overheard the night of the gala, and presumably Valerie herself was just making a snarky guess—but Zoe knows that any individual attention she gets, positive or negative, is a sign of favoritism to the Twins and Shankar.

Still. She can't ignore a summons from Jenkins, so off she goes, her mind automatically calling up a litany of her latest mistakes: less-than-perfect sutures, slightly off incisions, clamping the wrong vein. It's almost enough to make her keep on walking, right past the supervisor's door and right on out of the hospital.

But her treacherously obedient feet stop right where they're supposed to.

When she enters Jenkins' office, the older woman is elbow-deep in paperwork, one hand massaging her temple as if she has a headache. An unwilling stab of sympathy shoots through Zoe, and she slides quietly into the chair opposite the desk.

"Dr. Hart," sighs Jenkins, rooting around in the piles of paper for a file. She flips it open. "Javier Rodriguez de la Cruz? You know him?"

Zoe breathes an inaudible sigh of relief—perhaps this isn't about the sutures after all. "Yes. He's a very old family friend."

"I see. Well, we don't usually recommend operating on someone with whom you have a personal connection, but he's requested—"

"Wait—" Zoe interrupts. "I'm sorry—are you saying you want _me_ to do the procedure?"

Jenkins finally looks up, for the first time. "That _is_ where I was going with this…unless you have an objection?"

"I—" Zoe is stunned, mouth opening and closing. Do Javy's surgery? When Jenkins has spent the last four months questioning her abilities at every turn? Doesn't sound like a recipe for success. "But…I hoped someone with more experience—you, or Dr. Zendek…even my father! He's teaching a course at Columbia now—I'm sure he could get guest privileges—"

Jenkins removes her reading glasses, peering intently at Zoe for a good long moment. "Dr. Hart, what is this about? Most associates would jump at the chance to take the lead on this procedure."

Zoe leans forward. "Javy's life could be in the balance! And let's face it," her eyes drop to her lap. "You haven't exactly been pleased with my performance so far."

Jenkins' eyebrows go up. "And what gives you that impression?"

Once again, she has the sense of the rug being pulled out from under her. "You're always criticizing me," she says, before she can think. "I mean—not that I'm questioning you—"

"Dr. Hart, do you know how hard I had to work to get where I am? In case you hadn't noticed, coming up I had two strikes against me: I'm black, and I'm a woman. For all that this is the twenty-first century, seems like some things don't change. With men, people assume they've earned their place, minus glaring evidence to the contrary. When you're a woman, someone is always willing to suppose that you took a shortcut."

"That's exactly what everyone around here thinks of me! That I only got the position because of my dad." Zoe takes a deep breath, and asks the question she's not sure she wants the answer to. "Is it true?"

Dr. Jenkins leans back in her chair, pen tapping against the file as she considers. "I'll be honest with you. Dr. Zendek had the initial selection on the fellowship candidates, and I don't know if his relationship with your father played a role. However, you also had excellent recommendations—not only from your old chief, but more importantly, from the G.P. you worked with in Alabama. And regardless of any of that, I've now had several months to observe your performance myself," she continues, folding her glasses carefully and setting them on the desk. "I've been hard on you because you're one of the most gifted surgeons I've seen in a long time, and when you hang out your shingle, I want you to have such a brilliant reputation that no one will question you, in spite of your gender and your father."

Zoe collapses back in her chair, feeling winded by this unexpected praise. Throughout the fellowship, she's thought that Jenkins resented her presence, even looked on her with disdain. To find out that her supervisor has been supportive of her all along is a little overwhelming.

"Can I take it that you're willing to do the surgery?" Jenkins asks, after a pause.

"What? Oh—of course. If it's what Javy wants."

"Very good," Jenkins remarks, noting something on Javy's chart. "We can schedule him in for Thursday. And by the way, you'll need to ask someone to assist."

"Right," Zoe assents. "I'll let you know."

Jenkins nods, replaces her glasses, and goes back to her paperwork, a sign the interview is over. Zoe wanders back down to the lounge in a daze. All of the assumptions she's made—about Jenkins, her dad's involvement, and her own performance—were completely wrong. It reminds her of the way she'd judged Wade's character when she first got to Bluebell. She'd eventually been smart enough to realize her mistake there, and she should do the same now.

For starters, she probably owes Ethan an apology. Not for the things she said at the gala, but for cutting him off since. He's tried to call her several times in the last few weeks, but she's refused to answer. Now she has the perfect olive branch to offer him.

Just as she pulls out her phone, a voice from down the hall calls, "Zoe!"

It's Ethan.

As he walks toward her, Zoe holds up her phone, where the screen displays his number. "I was just calling you."

"Guess I've got good timing, then," he says, hands plunged in the pockets of his trenchcoat. "Can we talk?"

"Yeah, sure," she replies, leading him into a little alcove containing two chairs.

Ethan sits, and then gets up again, pacing. "So, uh…I heard about your mom's…friend," he starts. "How's he doing?"

"Arterial collapse. He needs a stent."

He nods. "Angioplasty then?"

"Yes," Zoe asserts, then pauses. "I just met with Jenkins. She's asked me to do it."

Ethan's head shoots up—he is clearly surprised by this—and, if his smile is any indication, delighted, too. "That's—that's great, Zoe. They couldn't make a better choice."

"Well, I don't know about that, but…look, Ethan—" He winces at her use of his first name. "I'm sorry I cut you off."

"No, I'm sorry. I never should have interfered in your career."

"Actually, according to Jenkins, your input wasn't definitive," she comments. "Surprisingly, she said it was talking to Brick that sealed the deal."

"Brick?"

"Brick Breeland, my partner down in Bluebell." Zoe smiles ruefully. "Jenkins said he gave me a glowing recommendation. To be honest, I don't know if he did it to get me out of his hair, or if he really wanted me to have the opportunity."

"Maybe a little of both," Ethan grins.

Zoe playfully pushes at his shoulder, and then grows serious again. "So, I need someone to assist on Javy's surgery. Would you be interested?"

Looking pleased, Ethan takes her hand. "I'm touched that you would offer, Zoe, even after everything…but you don't need me looking over your shoulder. What about that Dr. Chang? I observed him on a DES implantation and let me tell you, that young man is very impressive, even if he looks about fourteen."

Ethan's refusal to assist paradoxically warms Zoe all over, and the smile she gives him is both genuine and grateful. "That's a good idea, especially since Alvin treated him when he came in." She stands up. "I've got rounds in just a few minutes, but I'm really glad you came by."

"Yeah, me too." He cocks his head to one side, as if deliberating something, and then says slowly, "There was one other thing. I've decided I'm done bouncing around from country to country…it's time to replant some roots. I'm going to open a cardio-thoracic practice right here in New York, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather have as my partner."

She literally takes a step back, astonished. This is what she dreamed about, all those long years of her childhood, and now he's offering it to her—not begrudgingly, but almost…pleadingly? "Oh, wow—" she breathes. "I—I'm not sure what to say—"

He nods. "I know it's a huge decision, and I don't need an answer yet. Just…think about it?"

Zoe's heart clenches with long-buried affection, and without thinking she reaches up and hugs him. "I will. And thanks…Dad."

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**A/N: Should have two chapters left…hope you've enjoyed!**


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